Damaged People Are Dangerous Because They Know They Can Survive
by a simple space nerd
Summary: "The council needs someone to test earth before they send the criminals, and they... they voted on you." There was a pause, and then, "You're not sending me to live," Clarke hissed. "You're sending me to die." Here's an AU where Clarke is sent to Earth six months before the rest of the delinquents, forced to survive on her own.
1. Part 1

**A/N: Hello! Thank you for reading my story. Please leave me a review and tell me what you think, if you can, it'd be greatly appreciated. Live long and prosper! xx**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own _the 100,_ sadly. **

* * *

Clarke sat on her small, steel bed and processed what her mother was saying.

"I'm going to earth," she repeated, just to try out the words. "I'm going to earth."

Abby Griffin wrung her hands. "Yes. The council needs someone to test earth before they send the criminals, and they... they voted on you."

Clarke didn't look at her mother. "Because I wanted to tell people the truth, with Dad." Abby nodded. "You voted for me to go," Clarke whispered a moment later. "Didn't you."

Abby took a step forward and Clarke shifted back. "Clarke," her mother pleaded, "it's your chance at survival! There's nothing left for you here." she hesitated, looking around the grey walls on Clarke's cell, covered in charcoal drawings. "You get to live on earth!"

Clarke turned to face her mother, disgust written on her face. "You're not sending me to live," she hissed. "You're sending me to die."

Abby left, and Clarke cried.

* * *

They strapped her into a small dropship and told her to go to Mt Weather for extra supplies. Clarke's arms burned where her mother had clenched her tightly before pulling her into a hug and tranquillising her. As the ship sank towards earth, Thelonious Jaha's face appeared on a screen and Clarke spat at it.

He called her expendable and Clarke wondered if her mother had helped write the speech.

"Good luck," he said, and then dropped out. The dropship lurched and shook, and Clarke tried not to wail.

* * *

She landed with a bang and wondered if she was dead. Her arm was bleeding, and her eyesight was spotted, but she managed to stumble out of her seat.

She sat in front of the door and wondered what she had left to fear.

The communication devices had broken, and Clarke sniffled. She was now, apparently, dead to the ark and all it's inhabitants. She hand't been on earth for a day and everything had already gone wrong.

She opened the door.

* * *

Earth was every bit as beautiful as the books had said. Green vines hung down from the tall, reaching trees. Flowers grew out of moss and their tantalising aroma's were palpable even from where Clarke stood. She grinned and clutched her map tighter.

The grin turned into anger when she found out that she was on the wrong mountain. She didn't cry, because she figured she could break down when starvation wasn't quite so imminent.

She collected everything she could salvage from the dropship, and then she headed off.

She stopped at the river, because she had seen a giant eel-thing in a smaller stream and wanted to be sure she could cross.

Hiding under the cover of the trees, Clarke fought not to scream when a figure emerged from the trees near her. They carried a spear and wore a mask, and Clarke tried not to breathe. The person filled up a waterskin and then slunk away, footsteps almost completely silent.

Clarke ran back to her dropship under the cover of darkness. Her feet pounded on the earthen floor, and she didn't see the mutated skeleton until she'd tripped over it.

 _I'm dead,_ she thought. _I'm so dead._

* * *

On the third week of surviving off of berries and river-water, Clarke met Anya.

"My people live in space," Clarke said carefully, eyes on the warriors behind the fierce leader, "They sent me to see if earth as survivable-" Two men grabbed her arms from behind, and Clarke thrashed.

"The earth is survivable," Any a said coldly. "But not for skypeople. This is OUR land. When are your people coming?" Clarke writhed. "I don't know!" she said, but it was only half the truth.

Anya knew it too.

* * *

Clarke spent two weeks in their prison camp. Her writs were chained to the walls beside her, and Anya's second, Indra, would stand in front of her.

"When are your people coming?" she'd ask, and for every time that Clarke said she didn't know, they lashed across her back more violently. Clarke's throat was raw from screaming for so long.

One of the more quiet warriors who frequently stood guard over her gave her extra water sometimes. She named him Ricky, in her mind, before he whispered " _Lincoln_."

On the fifteenth day, Anya visited. Her knife was poised over Clarke's shoulder, and Clarke didn't break eye contact.

"When are your people coming?" Anya asked, and Clarke stared at her stubbornly.

"I've told you all I know," she hissed. "If you're going to kill me, just do it."

Anya's knife dug into her shoulder and Clarke screamed.

On the sixteenth day, they dumped her in the woods, with a poultice for her wounds. Clarke wasn't sure why.

* * *

In Clarke's fifth week, she crossed the river and hiked to Mount Weather. Then she was knocked out and strung up like a doll before she even knew what was happening. The one minute, she was staring into the face of a masked man, and the next she opened her eyes and saw cages and cages. She tried to scream but found herself too exhausted. A tear dripped down her nose and she wondered if she'd died in her sleep and was now in hell. She probably deserved it.

Clarke was trapped in Mount Weather for just over a week. The woman in the cage next to her was called Echo, and she told Clarke of the people within the mountain. Clarke couldn't understand everything Echo said, but from what she could she assumed that the mountain men didn't know she was different.

They knew her blood was, though, and she was drained more often than any of the others once they figured it out. On the tenth day, Clarke fought her way out. She choked a man with her bare hands and stole his gun to shoot two others. Her fingers were red and dripping, and she wanted to save the others but there were footsteps approaching her and Clarke ran.

* * *

So, on Clarke's forty-fifth day on Earth, she met the reapers. First she fell into a tunnel filled with the dead. Then she hid in a cart and had those same bodies dumped onto her. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to make any noise. Then the cart began to move.

She ran after hearing the first screams, accompanied by the sound of flesh being torn apart and teeth gnashing together. Nobody noticed.

She jumped off a dam and almost drowned. Her shoulder and left arm were bashed open by rocks, and she almost bled out- again. Acid fog rolled in and she almost passed out from exhaustion right then and there. Clarke's last words to her mother echoed in her ears. _"You're not sending me to live, you're sending me to die."_

She wished she could see Wells once more, to punch him or hug him she wasn't sure.

Clarke spent the night in a buried car, drinking from the flask she found, and wondered why Wells had told his father and betrayed her own. Then she wondered how. He'd have had almost no time, between talking to Clarke and Jake being floated. Where had Abby been? Where had her mother been that day? Why had she been at the airlock already? _Why had she been next to Thelonious?_ Like she _knew_? Clarke tried not to throw up and bandaged her bleeding back to distract her trembling fingers. She'd torn it open again.

* * *

 _You've sent me to die, just like you did him._

* * *

On Clarke's seventh week on earth, when she was learning to hunt and had moved into a bunker with _pencils_ and blankets and clothes, she saw Lincoln again.

She jolted up from her rabbit snare, and fought back a groan when her back protested heavily.

He raised his hands peacefully. "I mean you no harm," he said, and Clarke watched him distrustfully. He fixed her snare and taught her how to perfect her spears and bows.

Clarke liked him.

* * *

In week nine, she met Nyko. He taught her, silently, how to brew different poisons and medicines. He told her it was because she had saved Lincoln's life a week before, staunching Lincoln's bleeding after a panther attack. Lincoln told her it was because Nyko was curious.

Nyko told her, on his third visit, to let him fix her back. She did. He told her he'd done a good job on it, and she laughed and it was a sad sound. But his stitches held, and the scars from his work in patching her up were neater than her own.

Next was Artigas. He was young but fierce, and Clarke knew better than most that age was just a number. He taught her how to make her steps in the woods completely silent, and Clarke thanked him by drawing his portrait. He grinned and clasped her forearm. Clarke smiled back.

Lincoln's next friend was Indra- and Clarke swore and staggered backwards when she saw her, holding her daggers in her hands warningly. Indra looked over her with disgust, before attacking her slowly. Clarke was knocked down but furiously scrambled up again. Lincoln had an excellence poker face, but she saw the guilty gleam in his eyes, so Clarke refrained from calling him some of the more colourful Trigadesleng words she had learned. Indra attacked her again and again, and Clarke realised what she was doing. Sussing her out. Training. She stopped the outraged yells and fought back without her daggers.

Lincoln told her later than Anya had agreed to leave Clarke in peace, but his people were curious. Anya wanted Clarke to stay alive until her people came, because she was a bargaining chip, so she had sent Indra to train her. Clarke didn't thank Indra for teaching her how to become a warrior, but she stopped hating her.

* * *

In her third month, Clarke walked into TonDC and traded some of her meat for a pair of new shirts. She ignored the stares, nodded at Indra, and waved at a little boy who hid behind his mother's skirts. Nobody attacked her. Clarke thought it was a success. Lincoln thought she was crazy.

* * *

By the fourth month, she knew Trigadesleng almost fluently. She knew the legends of the Maunon. She had met Heda Lexa. She had a tattoo on the inside of her wrist, a shining star, and one curling around her upper arm, the band that signified a healer.

She knew that the design carved into her shoulder meant she had withstood torture. The nine killmarks on her back, in one of the only areas that wasn't criss-crossed with ugly scars, meant she had protected herself and could hold her own. The braids in her hair meant she was one of the earthborn. The warpaint that she dragged under her cheeks when hunting only further established this.

Trikru members stopped glaring at her. Some even smiled.

* * *

The fifth month was when rain poured in buckets. Clarke was out on a week-long hunt, and took refuge with a trader called Niylah. Niylah made a fire and they sat around it, warming their hands and telling stories. Lincoln later complained that she was replacing his role as best friend. Clarke smacked a kiss on his cheek and told him he was stupid.

Anya gifted her with two long swords after she saved the life of a little girl, when Nyko was away, and Clarke didn't hate the way she exchanged feral grins with the Trikru commander. She was a different girl than the one who had fallen from the sky, but she was fine with that.

* * *

Three men from Azgeda kidnapped her, as their queen wanted the "skyperson" on her side. Clarke killed them and returned to TonDC with their braids swinging off her jacket sleeves. Lincoln hugged her, which was surprising, and Artigas looked so relieved that she pulled him close and tousled his hair. Niylah gave her three new killmarks and told her that she was reckless. Clarke shrugged.

She met Roan soon after, in another kidnapping attempt. She killed his companion and he stabbed her foot. She swore to help him overthrow his mother and lift his banishment when she could, using her reputation, and he let her go. She wasn't sure if she could uphold her part of the deal.

* * *

Indra no longer fantasied about killing her slowly, and instead brought her to Polis and arranged, miraculously, for Clarke to be officially under Lexa's protection. Killing Clarke would be an act of war. Clarke didn't need to be protected, but she was admittedly kind of glad that the kidnappings would stop. Lincoln was even more happy than she was.

Roan's banishment was lifted, and he bowed to Clarke. Nia tried killing Clarke, Lexa killed her, and Roan was King. Lexa congratulated her and Clarke smiled. She was responsible for what she'd made of herself, and she belonged to no one. Her legacy was made by her and her alone.

* * *

Clarke returned to her bunker most nights, and she liked it there. It was her safe haven, and only Lincoln and Nyko knew it's location. Her drawings decorated the room, reaching from floor to roof, her spears, swords, arrows, bow and quiver, and few daggers leaned against the wall, and her bed was covered with blankets and furs. She had more clothes; no longer having only her clothes from space, and a fog horn sat on the desk. Waterskins and dried meat hung from ropes suspended across the room, and berries were collected in jars. It was home.

She accidentally ate jobi notes, one night. Her dad appeared before her and Clarke hugged him an never wanted to let him go. He told her to forgive her mother. _Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two very different things,_ he said. Clarke nodded. It felt like closure, even if she wouldn't forgive her mother's actions, not yet.

* * *

At the end of her sixth month, something came crashing down from the sky. Clarke watched it, mouth open, and then she was running faster than she ever had before. she met Anya in TonDC, and Anya watched her carefully.

"I will watch them," Clarke said.

"Remember the terms of our treaty, Clarke," Anya replied in Trigadesleng, and Clarke nodded.

"Of course," she said simply, and Anya wavered.

"Do you need warriors to company you?"

Clarke grinned fleetingly. She _was_ a warrior. "I'll be good," she promised. "Thank you."

Anya smiled and they clasped arms. "Be safe," Anya said. "Your time has not yet come." Clarke smiled and repeated the sentiment.

As she headed out of the gate, people stopped what they were doing and watched. Zaphin, a little boy who Lincoln called her shadow, come out worriedly, and Clarke crouched down and assured him everything was fine. Eight-year-olds Talulla and Timone asked her if all skypeople were like her. Clarke grinned and tweaked their noses. "Maybe," she said simply, and they nodded. Thirteen-year-old Nasiya placed her bone dagger in Clarke's hand and curled her fingers over it. Clarke felt strong affection well up inside her as the adults in the village nodded solemnly or placed a hand over their hearts.

Clarke bumped into Lincoln's side, as he had appeared, and he nudged her back. She kissed Atrigas's forehead and grinned at his disgust- which covered worry and excitement,- and Lincoln went all the way to the statue with her.

"You be safe," he told her, and she nodded firmly. Lincoln knew most about her people, and he alone knew how little love she had for them now. "I will," she promised, and he touched their foreheads together. He watched her leap into the trees and sighed, steeling himself for whatever the future held.


	2. Part 2

**A/N: Hey! A big thank you goes out to _PinkLemonadeChocolate_ , who left me a very sweet review. Please, if you're reading this, spare a minute and let me know what you think! Reviews really do make a difference, and motivate me to keep writing this. Thank you, and without further ado, chapter 2!**

* * *

Clarke perched in the trees surrounding the dropship and shifted slightly, cool breeze caressing her cheeks and forehead. The door to the dropship creaked open, finally, the forest clearing strangely silent, and Clarke held her breath. She still wasn't sure what to expect.

A pretty brunette with an amazing jawline stepped out, and the people behind her blinked in the sunlight. The girl stepped carefully on the grass, mouth open, before throwing her hands in the air. " _We're back, bitches!"_ she screeched, and the teenagers charged into the clearing, shoving each other and revelling in their new-found freedom.

A man in guard's uniform came up to the girl, grinning, and Clarke wondered why they sent _guards_ with the teenagers. And why there was only _one_. Dismay pooled in her stomach and she licked her lips.

* * *

Clarke watched them that whole day, as they smelled the flowers and rolled in the grass, hugging in the trees and breathing in the air. She thought, with no small amount of scorn and disgust, that they were stupidly reckless even _without_ knowing earth was inhabited. The man who wore a guard's uniform was not, in fact, a guard at all, and his sister was the brunette with the pretty face. The boy who ventured further than all of them was called Space-walker, so Clarke assumed he was Finn Collins. She scowled at his figure. What a waste of air. Two idiots grinned and inspected all of the plants, one all loud and the other quiet. Clarke could tell they would likely be up to no good.

And, Wells.

He was picking a fight with some psychopath, and Clarke swore vividly under her breath in Trigadesleng. What the _hell_ was he doing here?

She watched the Spacewalker kid break them apart, and the snake-like impostor, _("Belomi")_ smirk as he watched them brawl. She scowled. _Asshole_.

* * *

When the kids had gotten their tents up, on the second day, Clarke shifted again. It was in the very early hours of the morning; dawn light beginning to filter through the trees and onto the ground below. Most of the overly-hormonal teenagers were finally asleep; and a group was being led to Mt Weather soon.

Finn was going, as were the idiots, named Monty and Jasper, and Belomi's sister O.

And Clarke, lucky her, was going to have to stop them. Yay. Lincoln had just appeared, and she told him quietly what the plan was. He watched the delinquents here; Clarke went with the group going to _Maunon_. Lincoln nodded, and Clarke saw his eyes following the brunette.

Clarke grinned. "Her name's O," she muttered teasingly. "Pretty, huh?" Lincoln scowled at her. Clarke turned serious. "Her brother is called _Belomi_ , and he's dangerous. Be careful here, Lincoln."

He smiled at her. "You too, C," he murmured, and then Clarke was off, staying a short distance behind the mountain group.

* * *

It was awful. Clarke had to bit down to urge to yell at them all and knock some sense into their dull heads. O- _"Octavia"_ flirted with Finn; who watched the ground; Jasper who watched Octavia like a lovesick puppy; and Monty who took in his surroundings. (She liked Monty best.)

They talked about why they were locked up. Monty and Jasper grew illegal plants. (Clarke snorted.) Finn had used a month's worth of oxygen on an illegal spacewalk. (Clarke tilted her head, brow furrowed. Something about his story didn't add up.) Octavia had been born. (Clarke felt sorry for her, but her sympathy was tinged with annoyance as Octavia declared loudly how evil the ark was. The girl was wild and moody and had lots of potential, but her pettiness was distracting from that which could be. Indra would like her, perhaps.)

"Hey," Jasper said a moment later after Octavia's latest declaration, "Remember what Jaha said? About that girl?" he looked around the forest dramatically. "The one they sent down before us? Clarke, or whatever?" He exchanged glances with Monty. "D'you think we'll find a body?" Monty rolled his eyes.

Finn shrugged, nonchalant. Octavia looked interested. "How d'you think she died?" Jasper shrugged, but looked a bit disgruntled.

"I dunno..." he said, letting his sentence dwindle away.

Finn, up ahead, sighed. "C'mon, guys," he called. "Keep moving."

Clarke frowned thoughtfully and wove between the branches behind them, curious despite her irritation.

(Finn whispered to Octavia that sure, he felt bad for the girl who been sent down to earth first, but _at least they had each other, right?_ Clarke gagged.)

Jasper swung across the vine and Clarke had no idea what to do. If she came out into the open now, no one would believe her about Earth's other, older inhabitants. If she waited, they'd still go near the river as an act of curiosity, idiocy, or rebellion. She had to instil a sense of fear that would be associated with crossing the river.

So she knocked her bow and shot him.

The group scattered, and Clarke sighed because _really, guys? An assassin in the trees, and you draw more attention to yourselves?_ When they had dispersed, Clarke dragged Jasper into the bushes and clamped a gloved hand over his mouth.

He looked at her, blearily, panicked, and Clarke waited patiently for him to pass out before bringing him into a clearing and binding his wound. It was easy enough, as Clarke had been shot often enough to be quick, and she was experienced enough in stitching earthborn up.

In a burst of inspiration, she tied a cloth around his eyes and bound him to a tree. Feeling creative, she decided to add crude blood drawings on his chest, and then she pulled a branch over the panther traps and hoped nobody was stupid enough to fall in.

If they _came_ , that was.

* * *

They did, and they brought a suspicious-looking boy and Belomi.

Also, Wells!

Clarke cursed her luck. Of _course_ the one person who might recognise her would have to tag along. Her dramatic reveal would have to wait, then. She had to intimidate them, not amuse them by fighting with her "rich friend."

Monty rushed to his friend and almost fell into the trap, and then a panther jumped towards Belomi. Clarke's fingers itched towards her bow or a throwing dagger, but Wells saved her from that situation by firing every single bullet from Belomi's missing gun into the panther's side. Clarke rolled her eyes.

* * *

Lincoln was scowling when Clarke returned, and it didn't take Clarke's genius to figure out why.

"They just _keep kissing_ ," he complained, and Clarke rolled her eyes in exasperation. Atom and Octavia were, indeed, kissing, but Lincoln looked sated when Belomi hung up the other boy in the trees. Clarke was not pleased, and decided that she full-on disliked him now.

"What an awful man," she grumbled. "An an even worse leader." Lincoln nodded his agreement, and Nyko silenced them both with a glare, leaving her to wonder how she planned to speak with her old people.

* * *

Clarke's meeting with her people does not go as planned. She's pulling a hare out of a snare when she hears a gun's safety click.

"Turn around," a male voice says lowly. Clarke grits her teeth and slowly sets the hare down, where it scampers away in terror. "Now." he says again, roughly, and Clarke rolls her tongue over her teeth. She raises her hands to her sides and slowly turns around, lips pursed.

It's Belomi. _Of course._

"Your gun is empty," she says, and he gawks at her. He's trying to be tough, she knows, so she shrugs a bit, trying to put him at ease, but before she can say anything at all, there's a giant branch swinging at her face and she doesn't even have time to duck. It's shameful. And to make matters worse, Lincoln is heading back to TonDC with Nyko, so she's completely alone. "Rude," she grunts, and then collapses.


	3. Part 3

**A/N: 5 reviews! Thank you so much! Shoutouts to _PinkLemonadeChocolate, Hermione-Potter-McTaggert, betagamma,_ and _Guest_. Reviews make me smile. :) **

* * *

Clarke wakes up in their dropship. It's the upper level, and Clarke swears and tries to clamber to her feet. Which she finds she cannot do, as she is suspended on her feet already.

Chained to the walls.

Clarke swears again, furiously, and yanks at the long iron loops in vain. This is reminding her of the earthborn torture, and the night she was stuck with a man from Azgeda who ripped open her leg to keep her from escaping, (she did anyway,) and even worse- it's too similar to the time she spent chained upside down in the mountain, but she's never been chained by her _own people_. Locked up, yes. Chained? She can't say she's pleased with the a second, she takes in her surroundings abnormally quickly. The _normal,_ peacemaker Clarke is gone; the angry _survivor_ Clarke has taken her place. Belomi will rue the day he bound her in his iron prison.

* * *

Bellamy did not ask for this. Earth, yes. Jasper getting _shot_ and moaning about it ever since? Nope. Mutant deers, panthers, sure. Panther _traps_? Not so much. Delinquents- yeah. People on the ground- _hell_ no.

It doesn't change what's happened, though, and when Miller scrambled down the ladder and tells him that the grounder girl has woken up, he nods gruffly, signals Atom, and follows his second-in-command up the ladder. Finn, Monty, and Octavia are following him, and he scowls but doesn't push it. "Not a word," he threatens first, and even spacewalker nods his consent.

They climb through the hatch and stand next to Miller, who is holding a shocklash in his hand warily. "She woke up a minute ago," Miller informs him, and Bellamy looks over to his captive.

She's surprisingly short, and looks to be around Octavia's age. Her blonde hair is long and wavy, and it's fallen out of the messy braid she'd originally had and now is pulled back only away from her face, tied in the back.

Her clothes are strange; -a mixture of leather and fur and are those _braids?-_ and her boots are oddly large. She has smudged, faded paint under her eyes, and her shirt is tattered. Her jacket lies in a heap on the other wall, along with the eight knives they found strapped to her. _Eight_. She has a few tattoos, but what really draws Bellamy's attention are the numerous scars on her arms, hands, and peeking out from under her shirt.

He looks up at her face, and almost smirks at the expression there. It's murderous. Her lip is curled, her eyebrows furiously pulled together, eyes flashing.

"Well, princess," Bellamy says casually, "tables have turned, haven't they?" He's referring to Jasper's shooting, because the bow and quiver she had use the same kind of arrowhead that they found on the ground near the panther tree. She must know this because she spits at his feet.

Miller, who is standing with the shock-lash, flicks it on angrily.

Bellamy flicks his knife in between his fingers, and Octavia shifts closer to Monty in concern. "Explain," Bellamy says dangerously. The girl hisses a sentence that Bellamy can't understand but knows is certainly not complimentary, and Miller shocks her.

Her back arches,Miller pulls away the baton, and she whips her head forward to glower at the group in silent rage. "I'll ask you again," Bellamy says calmly, and hears Octavia gulp but knows she'd never leave, "to explain."

She stays silent, even when Miller lashes her again, for longer this time, and Bellamy arches an eyebrow before heading over to her stuff and sifting through it. The girl lunges in her chains when he goes to open a leather-bound book, and Bellamy grins.

"Look like we've found something she doesn't want us to see, Miller," he leers, and opens the book for all to see.

* * *

It's _sketches_.

* * *

They're beautiful, and intricately done. Some are faces, some are animals, and most are locations. He casually flips through it, and then stops. It's the ark.

"What is this?" he snarls, shoving the book in the girl's face. She curls her lip. Miller slams the shocklash into her stomach and she doubles over. Octavia makes a small noise of distress.

"How do you know what this is?" he repeats, shaking her book, and the girl sneers.

"You idiots," she hisses, and Miller almost drops the shocklash in his baton.

"You complete and utter _idiots_ ," she continues, deadly quiet growing in volume, and Miller quickly slams the baton into her side again.

"Wait!" Monty suddenly yelps, and Miller pauses and looks at Bellamy.

The girl gives a bitter, broken laugh. "I'm _Clarke Griffin,_ " she snaps. (Miller gulps loudly.)

* * *

Octavia and Finn rush to get her out of her chains, and she doesn't let herself be supported for more than a brief moment. Atom hovers awkwardly and tries to offer her one of her knives. She snatches it and slips it into a pocket in her pants.

Miller quietly turns off the shocklash, staring at her in horror. Bellamy crosses his arms and tries to swallow his guilt.

"Clarke Griffin." He says, when he trusts himself to speak, "You're the one they sent to earth before us. You're supposed to be dead."

She glares at him and he is honestly threatened. "Really?" She snarls. "Well, I'm not. Maybe next time, before you freaking shocklash them, you give them a chance to speak, huh?"

He raises an eyebrow. "We did give you a chance to talk," he says, and Clarke snorts.

"Right," she snaps mockingly. "Hey, earthie, why don't you tell us your _name_ in between _dying_? That's be great, thanks!" Miller wilts a bit.

"You weren't dying, princess," Bellamy protests meekly, running a hand over his face, and she snorts.

"How do you know that? Are any of you doctors?" she scoffs and slips on her jacket. "Yeah, that's what I thought. _Idiots_ , the lot of you." She pauses. "Except maybe you." She points at Monty, who still looks sick but smiles a bit.

"Why are you here?" says Bellamy, kind of wishing that she was still in chains, "Why didn't you come when we first landed?"

She rolls her eyes. "I did," she says in annoyance. "Up there." She points to the ceiling.

"The dropship?" Atom asks doubtfully, and Clarke sighs.

"The trees." She corrects. "And I didn't come because I didn't know who you were or why you were here." She hesitates, like she's debating what else to say, but then stays silent.

"Where'd you learn to hide in the trees?" Octavia asks, and Bellamy already dreads the awe in her tone.

Clarke blinks a few times, and Bellamy reminds himself that she was just shock-lashed. Though- she seems pretty well recovered? Where'd she build a resistance to pain? "Ah..." she says, almost nervous. "Six months, remember?"

Bellamy snorts a bit before he can help it, and Clarke's narrowed eyes turn to him. "What?" She snaps.

Bellamy shrugs, smirks. "A princess like you, Clarke Griffin, one of the elite... now hiding in trees?" Miller snorts, but Clarke's jaw twitches. She closes her eyes, like she's trying not to punch him, (she is,) and yep, Bellamy is curious.

"I'm not an _elite_ ," She finally decides on, saying the word like it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. "And a word of advice, Bellamy? Down here it's best to focus on the present, not the past."

Bellamy rolls his eyes. "Of course _you'd_ say that, princess," He leers, and disgust passes over her features. He tells Finn and Octavia to help her outside, where he can smell something cooking, and announces that they should talk in a minute.

* * *

He won't know what to say.

* * *

Everyone is staring at her. She doesn't seem to care; but maybe that's just what she wants them to think.

She looks dangerous too, he has to admit, and her eyes are cold and hard. Her gaze flicks around the clearing quickly, and she has a distrustful air about her, like she thinks anybody may be about to try and kill her. Bellamy isn't sure if she's wrong.

Her clothes set her apart too, as if her attitude wasn't enough, and upon closer inspection she has scars that littler across her face and arms- even her fingers, visible from behind fingerless gloves, are scarred and calloused. She's not really much of a princess, but Bellamy likes his nickname. And, of course, to add to the image, there's her knives. Most of which aren't visible. Most. And her bow and quiver, strapped against her back. And the sword. She walks with a slight limp, barely noticeable, and Bellamy thinks to himself that she probably tripped over a root. He snickers. Octavia narrows her eyes at him like she knows what he's thinking.

Finn, whose hand hovers close (too close, Bellamy thinks,) to Clarke's back, leads her to a log that the delinquents have brought into the clearing. Clarke scowls at spacewalker's back and tries to put as much distance between them as she can.

However before anyone has even had a chance to sit down, a boy shoulders his way through the throng and Clarke's entire demeanour changes.

"Monty," She says, eyes flashing. "Start serving the moonshine, please?" Monty does so timidly, and the majority of the teenagers disperse, swarming the Asian boy and forgetting Clarke for the time being. Bellamy has not, and neither have Finn or Octavia.

"Clarke," Wells Jaha says, relieved, taking a step forward. Clarke takes a step back, but it doesn't look weak. She looks livid. "I thought-" Wells starts, "Your mom said you were dead."

Clarke smiles tightly. "I'll bet she did," She says cooly. "She say anything else?" Clarke adds, and Wells' brow furrows. Clarke takes a step forward; Wells takes one back. Octavia is fascinated by this display and even Finn is rapt.

"You know," Clarke prompts, "Anything deceitful? Suspicious?" She pauses, watching Wells' face grow more horrified with each word, " _Murderous_ , maybe?"

Wells suddenly snorts, dread slipping off his features easily. "Who told you?" He asks calmly, and Clarke rolls her eyes, the malice gone.

"No one," She replies easily. "I figured it out." They hug, and Bellamy is confused on _so many levels._ "I'm sorry," Clarke says a moment later, pulling away from her friend. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry I hated you for so long."

Wells shrugs. "Sorry for lying," He says, and that's all they say on the matter. Bellamy supposes it would be euphoric to be reunited with your best friend after believing them dead, but both seem to be walking on glass. Something ugly lies in-between their friendship, but both have politics in their blood and know not to cause a scene where anyone else can hear them. Bellamy can almost respect that, if not the people themselves.

* * *

Clarke tells them that there are people on the ground, and all that respect for her flies out the window.

She'd heard a birdcall and tried to go outside the camp and Bellamy had grabbed her arm and tried to keep her locked up inside. "I need to go," She'd said, and Bellamy snorted.

"Like hell you do, princess," he sneered. "It's almost dark. You stay. What's the freaking rush anyways, huh? Think you're still above everybody else, you just get to do whatever the hell you want?" It was a stupid thing to say, in retrospect, but he'd just seen Atom and Octavia exchange longing glances across camp and he was in a sour mood already. Clarke's stubborn, quiet disregard for his dictatorship did nothing to help.

"No," She growled. "No, Bellamy Blake, I do not." She shoved his chest, and he actually stumbled a bit, surprised. The princess was strong, if small. Now, however, she also had everybody's attention.

"And you know what else?" Clarke asked, getting right in his face, and dread coiled in his stomach. "I'm trying to keep you all alive, so piss off and _let me,_ alright?"

He'd snorted and asked what they needed saving from.

Clarke had laughed then, and he'd flinched. Clarke had the kind of laugh that may once have been beautiful but was now bitter and infused with venom and centuries of heartbreak and struck a cord of fear in Bellamy's chest. He'd crossed a line, but he didn't know where it had lain.

"Oh, you idiots," She'd laughed, before sobering up completely, the change jarring. "You think you're the only ones who can survive on earth?" Then she'd raised her voice, throwing in arm out to the trees, blue eyes flashing. "You think, that because you come from space, in your lovely little ark, that you're all that's left? Humanity's last hope?"

She paused, ad the camp was dead silent. She grabbed one of the fallen bracelets that Murphy had pried off of a delinquent's arm. "Why do you think that the ark sent you down here?" She'd thrown the bracelet down. "They thought you'd _die!_ They- needed- more- _time_! The ark is _dying_! _That's_ why they sent me down here. I wanted to _tell_ people. I wanted to tell _you_! Normal, ordinary people!" She turns to Bellamy, eyes blazing.

"And you're still alive." Her voice is velvet, falling softly of the terrified delinquents. "You're _all_ \- _still_ \- _alive_. The earth is _survivable_. You can _survive_ here." She pauses; laughs again. "You honestly think you're the only ones who can?"

And then people explode with noise.


	4. Part 4

**Warnings: slightly graphic torture descriptions, shocklashing :(**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the 100.**

 **A/N: Okay, so I haven't editied this chapter and it's late at night but I promised myself I'd publish it today, so... here you go! Let me know what you think by leaving a review. ;) Thank you! xx**

* * *

Clarke tells them that the earthborn know her, and she knows them. She tells them that she can to the dropship to make sure they understood the terms of her treaty with the earthborn.

"Grounders," Jasper says, voice hushed. Clarke had bandaged him and he was looking perkier, and his term stuck. _Grounders_. Bellamy sure as _hell_ didn't sign up for that.

Clarke tells them that she has to go and meet with them; that's what the bird call signified.

"Fine," says Bellamy. "Go." The word is spat, but there's nothing he can do. He has to protect his sister, and this blonde girl made of fire and ice and rage is very possibly the only one who knows how to do that here on earth. He hates it and he hates her because of it. "We'll stay here." (It's a lie.)

Clarke sags with relief but not so much that anyone but Bellamy could tell. "Good," she says. "Thank you." And then softer, like she doesn't intend for him to hear, "I've sacrificed too much for you to ruin it all now." And just like everything else she says, somehow he doesn't doubt her.

* * *

Miller, Finn, and Murphy are the people that Bellamy takes with him to follow her.

She's silent as she moves and if not for her blonde hair they'd have lost her already. Bellamy thinks that she probably knows they're there, but something about the way her eyes shine makes him worried despite himself.

She stands in a clearing and trills, cupping her hands around her mouth, and a moment later a figure drops from the trees.

"Nyko," Clarke breathes, and kind of stumbles into him. It's certainly a change from her purposeful walk in camp and the easy way she slipped between the trees a moment ago.

The man, Nyko, who has tattoos and a beard and looks awfully threatening, breaks her fall and straightens her up, arms on hers. "Clarke?" He asks, worried and confused, and she shakes her head a bit.

"Shog'lashed me," she says slowly, blinking likes she's trying to stay awake. "Those _natronas_ shocked me." Nyko eases her onto a tree stump and pulls out a knife. Bellamy stiffens, but he pulls away her jacket and uses the knife to cut away her shirt. He hisses, fingers floating just above the angry red wounds on her side. Bellamy's eyes are drawn to the scars nearby- some very recent. How awful was earth, for Clarke to be so cut up?

"What happened?" He asks, touching Clarke's jaw to ground her as he uses his other hand to pull out a vial of something and dump it onto a rag. "Clarke?"

She twitches as he applies the concoction and runs a hand through her hair. "Didn' know I was from the ark," she mutters. "And _of course_ they didn' even think of askin'. Haven' changed a bit. At least Anya had the courtesy to floating ask before she chained me up," she grumbles in annoyance, and Nyko shakes his head.

"They chained you up?" His voice is incredulous, and Clarke actually blushes a bit.

"Yeah, well, I didn't know they'd chain me," she defends herself, "I didn't know they even had the shocklashes. I guess Jaha realised something dangerous was on earth, other than the radiation, and at least armed them a bit." She shrugs, and Nyko sticks some kind of paste over her lash wounds. She hisses. "What did Lincoln say?"

Nyko looks up at her distractedly. "He threw a fit when you didn't show up for your rendezvous," he says casually. "Almost marched into your people's camp and demanded you back."

Clarke snorts fondly, but then she takes a shuddering breath. "Thank gods he didn't," she says quietly, and Bellamy strains to listen. "I only just told them about Trikru. I... Their leader is a a stubborn man." She chews her lower lip, and Bellamy sees Miller frowning. "I don't know how well he will be able to negotiate for peace, if at all. He is angry at the world, and if anyone says anything that he doesn't like..." She shivers a bit at the cold wind blowing through, and Nyko tugs her shirt over her abdomen and she sends him a relieved look. "He hung up the Atom boy in the trees for kissing his sister," Clarke adds unnecessarily, and Nyko frowns.

"Anya has sent Tristan and Indra to Polis," he says gruffly, and Clarke's head snaps up. "Lexa will likely be arriving within three days. Your people will need to agree on a leader before that, to accept their position in the coalition."

Clarke pushes herself up, wincing a bit, brow furrowed in worry. "But- I took the brand?" She rolls up a sleeve and Finn draws back at the welt on her forearm. "Why-? If I'm the ambassador, which I _am_ , can't Lexa just leave it at that? I need more _time_ , Nyko."

Nyko shakes his head. "You know she can't. The clans must see her strength, and your people must _all_ recognise the alliance, not just you." He puts a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Clarke, but you know as well as I do that unless they agree to this, _Heda_ will be facing a war." Clarke nods dejectedly and stands up, rolling her shoulders.

"I haven't even told them about the twelve clans yet," she complains wearily. "Don't know how. I've known them for less than a day and I've already wanted to impale half of them. They're criminals, all of them, and teenagers to boot."

Nyko chuckles. "You're only a girl too," he reminds her, and Clarke sends him a small smile.

"No, I'm really not," she says, and Nyko clasps her shoulder again.

* * *

Clarke stays in the dropship that night. Bellamy tells her she has to. He places guards at the door and locks her in with Monty and Octavia so that he can talk to Miller and a few of the others- Harper, Monroe, Mbge, and ask them what they think of Clarke and her plans.

He hears Clarke's fluid swearing and curses in another language, hears her slamming against the hatch, hears Octavia rage at him, and then he waits until they have both stopped before he climbs off of the ladder to call the impromptu meeting.

* * *

"Oh my gosh I _hate_ him!" Octavia says furiously, and Clarke looks up from where she is threading a knife through her fingers.

"Don't blame you," she says, "he's a selfish asshole. No offence." Monty smiles a bit and Clarke sighs. "We need to think of someone better suited to lead," she continues. "Bellamy will never agree to a treaty, will he?" Octavia shrugs. Clarke groans and her head rests on the wall with a dull thunk.

Monty and Octavia go through all the names they can remember and Clarke matches them with what she saw from the trees. "No, not Murphy," Clarke agrees, "he's a psycho." "No, not Dax," Clarke snorts, "he's far too gullible. Too easily manipulated." "No, not Miller," she muses slowly, "he won't want to be a leader, and his allegiance is to Bellamy." Octavia groans and bangs her head against the wall.

"Why can't _you_ lead us?" Monty asks suddenly, surprising himself, and Clarke looks at him in surprise.

"Well-" she falters, "who would follow me? You heard Bellamy- they all think I'm an elite- that I'm too different." She licks her chapped lips and shifts, rubbing her wrists unhappily. "Besides, I'm already the ambassador of skaikru." Seeing their perplexed looks, Clarke shows Monty and Octavia the brand on her arm.

Octavia crawls over to her side immediately and holds Clarke's forearm gently. "Wow," she breathes, amazed at what Clarke must have done simply to ensure the safety of people who had sent her to earth to die, "who did that?"

Clarke looks at her carefully, and Octavia sees Monty putting down the wires he was fiddling with and scooch closer expectantly. It's the topic they've all been dancing around but are desperate to know more about.

Clarke's fingers twitch in Octavia's hands, and Octavia's eyes flicker to them, seeing how many are bandaged and how heavily scarred and calloused they all are. Clarke is anything but elite down here.

"The flamebearer of the coalition," starts Clarke, her low voice drawing Monty and Octavia in close, faces illuminated from the few candles and lantern scattered throughout the dropship.

"His name is Titus, and he is the commander's mentor and protector. The brand signifies that I- _we_ , now,- are a part of the coalition. The current commander is called Heda Lexa, and she is my age. She's the first commander to have united the clans. If one of the other twelve clans of the coalition were to attack us, it would be an act of war." As she speaks, Octavia sees Clarke's eyes brighten, transporting her somewhere else. From the sounds of it, it's somewhere she'd rather be. It's sad, in a way, that Clarke would rather be as far as she could be from her own people, but it's also understandable.

"At first nobody wanted me in the coalition or even alive, because they didn't understand what our purpose was." She shifts a bit, and Octavia drops her hands softly.

"Anya is the leader of Trikru, woods clan, and I landed in their territory. So did you." She smiles a bit, and Octavia notices that Monty is just as enthralled as she is. "I told them that I'd been sent to see if earth was survivable, and that we hadn't know there were people already on the ground." Her eyes go a bit hard, and on of her hands absently massages her shoulder. "I was a captive in their prison camp for a little while, but once they realised I wasn't sure when the ark would come down to earth, if at all, they let me go." She hesitates again. "A few months later, word of my arrival had spread to all twelve clans. I was a sky warrior who fell from the stars, and the people here believe that that when you kill someone you get their power, so I was hunted for a while." She pauses to let this sink in. "It really wasn't personal; the clan that killed me would have an advantage over the others. I was just a pawn in a much bigger game."

"I knew that when everyone else landed it would be disastrous, so I travelled to Polis, their Capitol city, and negotiated the terms of out treaty." She shifts again. "Once all of our people have arrived, we can find a piece of land to claim as our own, but until we know how many will survive the fall I would stay a nomad." She shrugs, smiling. "It suits me, and I've been able to build up a reputation in TonDC; a Trikru village, as something more than just the sky girl. As long as your brother doesn't do something stupid, everything should be okay."

Monty pipes up with, "How did you convince the commander to listen to you?" His curiosity mingles with awe and Octavia feels similar.

Clark shrugs. "I pledged my allegiance to her. And because I survived something no other person ever has, she respects me. The people here, they respect strength, something they believe I posses."

Monty watches her carefully, as if he is trying to spice together a puzzle. "What did you survive?" He asks timidly, and Clarke's brittle smile slips off of her face.

"That's a story for another day," she says bluntly, and Monty and Octavia have no choice but to accept that.

* * *

Bellamy doesn't let them out all night.

Octavia can't sleep- she hates the dark, and so Clarke lights a candle she rummages out from her bag and hums under her breath. Monty wakes up at one point and looks up to see Clarke's eyes glinting in the flickering light as she sharpens a dagger deftly. Monty likes Clarke already, but he worries for her too. She's been through something bad, perhaps many things, and she seems as though she's made entirely of scar tissue- both literally and metaphorically- as though everything soft about her has been cut away and honed into toughness.

Monty falls back into sleep watching the blonde girl stare at the walls and at her knives, a longing in her face that she can't quite disguise, as if the trees and night are calling to her and every moment she spends locked in the metal ship kills whatever peace she has left.


	5. Part 5

**A/N: Yeah, this chapter is shorter than my others, sorry... There's some ickle delinquents fluff though, so maybe that'll make up for it? ;)**

 **I wanted to quickly address a concern from last chapter and just clear the air (but don't feel obliged to read this): This isn't a romance story. For a start, I have wildly unrealistic romantic expectations as I have never been in a relationship and base everything of off fiction, meaning I have no conception of how to properly write it, and secondly most of my romantic stuff is hidden far away on my laptop, never to be seen by human eyes, lol. So to the guest who worried that it would end up as a Bellarke fanfiction: nope. I might hint towards it, _vaguely_ , but I'm sticking to the show's air of "maybe-maybe-not-it's-up-to-you" theme. **

**Also, I'm afraid you still have a little while before Lexa makes her entrance, sorry... but, next chapter will introduce two of my favourite characters from the 100! Any guesses as to who they might be?**

 **After that long ramble, (oops,) I hope you enjoy reading! Don't forget to leave a review! ;)**

* * *

Bellamy _tries_ to keep her locked in even longer. He comes up the hatch with Miller and a boy named Dax and gestures for Monty and Octavia to go down, shrugging very un-apologetically at Clarke who is standing warily in a corner.

It twinges at his heart to see someone so very distrustful, though he can't really blame her- last time she was here, they were shocklashing her. Miller must be remembering this too, and he sends Dax towards her with a cup of water.

Dax holds it out uncertainly, and before anybody can react she's grabbed his arm and used it to twist him against her body. A knife glints against Dax's throat and Bellamy curses the fact that he had forgotten to double check her for knives; that he had thought she wouldn't turn her blade against her own people.

Octavia, Monty, and Miller have frozen, and when Bellamy takes a step forward, hands out, Clarke's knife digs into Dax. Bellamy stops.

"Okay," Clarke says calmly, as if she's not rendering a boy larger than her defenceless, "now that I have your attention, I'm going to tell you how this works." She smiles sweetly and Bellamy feels a bit sick. "You are going to let me out of the dropship. You are not going to try and lock me up here again. Got it?" Bellamy swallows and then nods. "Great," Clarke continues. "You're not going to treat me like an enemy when all I've done since I arrived on this godforsaken planet is barter for your worthless lives. You're going to listen to what I have to say, because you may have forgotten the six months I spent here, alone, but I have not." There is a thinly veiled fury in her tone, and her threat is clear. " I know more about life down here than you do. I know how to hunt, I know how to hide," (Bellamy wonders why she had to hide at all,) "and I know what will happen to you if you screw up this treaty."

"How could you possibly know that?" Bellamy scoffs, forgetting that her knife is under Dax's throat, and her eyes flash dangerously.

"Because I have lived through their wars. I have been without peace, and you won't survive," she says coldly. "Now. I'm going to go downstairs. You're going to let me. Understand, Mr Blake?" Without waiting for a response, she kicks Dax towards Miller and slips through the hatch in an instant.

Bellamy decides that when it comes to Clarke Griffin, he has to expect the unexpected.

* * *

Clarke disappears into the trees and only shows up a few hours later, when Monty has begun to wonder if she is going to return at all.

She brings a two-headed deer with her and tosses it at Bellamy's feet without a word before walking to the campfire and adding more branches to the bonfire. Bellamy doesn't thank her, and she doesn't expect him to.

Jasper, who is still wary about her, finds out that she can down more moonshine than any of them, and that she isn't even tipsy by the end of the night.

"You're cool, Clarke," he slurs against her side, and Clarke raises her eyebrows and looks at him. Monty, on Jasper's other side, nods his agreement, and Octavia worms her arms around Clarke's waist, head resting on the blonde's shoulder.

"You're so brave," she murmurs happily, "I wanna be like you." Clarke, who went stiff at Octavia's touch, laughs a bit, and Jasper drops his cup in surprise at the surprisingly light sound. Finn laughs along and Wells snorts into his hand, and Sterling and Harper goad Clarke into throwing back another cup, Monroe snickering into Harper's shoulder.

* * *

Wells dies a day later, only a few hours after everyone had gone to bed. Bellamy thinks it was the "grounders" but Clarke knows it wasn't. She walks out of the tent where Octavia is staring at Clarke's dead best friend's fingers, and drags in Charlotte by the collar.

Nobody else knows about Charlotte's nightmares save Bellamy, and when he sees her everything makes sense. She'd seen Clarke kill Atom- a boy hit by what Clarke called "acid fog", the day before, and instead of being impressed and alarmed like Bellamy had, she'd been inspired, or so it seemed. Bellamy had realized how dangerous and merciful Clarke could be, singing as she stuck a dagger into Atom's neck. Charlotte had only learned how to kill.

Nobody wants to believe it was Charlotte, and John Murphy is almost murdered. By the time Clarke has arrived in the crowd, the rope is around his neck and a box is kicked out from his feet. Clarke makes Charlotte confess to the crowd, and she cuts down Murphy and helps him limp back into a tent, ignoring his hatred.

"We don't get to decide who lives and dies," she tells Bellamy harshly, bandaging Murphy's bleeding arm. "Not down here."

He wants to say more but Charlotte is still crying and Bellamy still blames himself for planting the idea to "slay her demons" in her head in the first place, so he sits beside Charlotte instead.

* * *

Charlotte runs off of a cliff in the middle of the night, and Clarke stares after her in horror. Bellamy rages and cries and almost blames Clarke for something that isn't her fault. He doesn't, but Clarke looks at him like she knows what he thought.

 _"Yu gonplei ste odon,"_ she says, and drops a flower after the thirteen year old.

Bellamy doesn't ask what it meant and Clarke doesn't say. They don't speak for the rest of the night.


	6. Part 6

**A/N: I'm not sure how I feel about how this turned out, so reviews are, as always, more than welcome! Again, I'd like to say that _this won't be a romantic story_. I can't write slash, y'all. You're safe, promise. ;) Also, very sadly, I'm afraid that this story will be on a _brief_ pause becaus of school. It's been crazy busy lately and I need to get in top of my work and stress. Sorry about that! It's in no way permanent, don't worry. :) I also quickly wanted to shout out to all my reviewers, followers, and favs! Each means the world to me. This story has the most reads I've ever rdcieved for a story! Thank you! (Keep it up!) ****xx**

* * *

The day after Charlotte, Clarke goes to her meeting place and finds Lincoln missing. She races back to camp to see Octavia's teary face and Clarke sees red all throughout the younger girl's rushed explanation.

She storms through the hatch, punches Dax in the face when he tries meekly to stop her, and races to Lincoln, who is chained up like she'd been. Bellamy stares at her and Miller inches backwards but she ignores them, running her hands over Lincoln's face in gentle fury. This just isn't fair. Lincoln is gentle; kind, he shouldn't be bound and beaten. That's Clarke's job, and she's told him so before. This is all _wrong_.

* * *

" _Lincoln,_ " Clarke breathes, and Miller knows the world is about to end. Foreign words fly off of her tongue, and the tattooed man she is talking to nods a couple times, jaw clenched. His voice is low when he replies and Clarke cuts him down easily, his arm around her shoulders, one eye bruised shut.

Clarke's eyes are blazing as she turns to face Bellamy. "What the hell, Blake?" She asks, and Bellamy flinches a bit. "Why-" Clarke's chest is heaving. "You know what, I don't care! Why did I ever think you'd be able to accept that you aren't in charge of everything?" She turns hard then, raw emotion fading into stony anger. "Lincoln is my friend. He was only trying to check on me, you idiot!" The man rumbles something, and she turns to him for a moment, snaps something back. " _Shof op, Linc, ai gada yu in. Teik ai sis au. Osir na bants._ " He replies something hurriedly, and she glares. " _J_ _ok Yu, Lincoln._ " He smiles a bit, and Clarke looks back at Bellamy.

" _Hofli oyo niron ge choj op kom pakstoka ona yo blinka,_ " she spits, before, "And get the _hell_ out of my way." Bellamy actually steps aside, albeit grudgingly, and Clarke lowers her friend down the ladder, glaring at Bellamy.

* * *

Thankfully, they've not done much damage, which Lincoln tells Clarke very loudly. Well- not loudly, it's still Lincoln, but he's not pleased with her recklessness.

"I shouldn't even be surprised," he mutters in Trigedasleng as Clarke gingerly checks his ribs, "that your own people are afraid of you." Clarke pinches him in retaliation and he smiles a bit under her scowl. "Did you see Belomi back away?" He teases, before turning abruptly serious. "They need to _trust_ you, Klark, please."

She looks up, rolls her tongue over her teeth. "They don't have to like me to trust me," she counters, "and _I_ don't need to trust _or_ like them. Especially not _Belomi_." He hisses a bit under her prodding, and Clarke frowns. "Bruised ribs," she declares, and Lincoln rolls his eyes.

"See? I told you- nothing major. I've had much worse! I'll be fine, Klark. Don't you worry about me." She looks up at him again, allowing him to see her unease and her doubt, and doesn't even notice how avidly Miller and Harper are watching them interact.

"Worry about the treaty," Lincoln prompts gently, and Clarke scowls, jumping up to her feet, before hurling her knife into the wall, making Harper jump and Lincoln sigh.

"I just don't see how it's going to to work with that boy in charge," Clarke says, sniffing a bit, running a hand through her hair roughly, and Lincoln seems to notice how upset she is because he struggles to his feet.

"Hey, hey," he says, grabbing her wrist, "we'll be fine. Anya will side with you- you know that. Trikru has no quarrel with you." Clarke is looking at him almost desperately, and he softens. "Lexa bowed before you," he continues, hands on her shoulders, "Titus respects you. Roan's army is your own. You're _Clarke Griffin, Wanheda,_ " (she scowls fiercely and he smiles,) "survivor of both Trikru and _Maunon_! You've done what no one else has been able to do for over a century. We can figure this out." Clarke takes a breath and glances at Harper and Miller, who are both looking away from her hurriedly.

"Okay," she agrees. "First, though, we have to deal with the asshole Blake."

* * *

Raven Reyes comes to earth surrounded by a halo of fire and leaves destruction in her wake. Her joy is infectious and Clarke smiles. Bellamy cuts the radio loose and Clarke wants to be even angrier with him but he sees it in his eyes that he's sorry.

Raven kisses Finn like its the last thing she'll ever do, and Finn looks at Clarke like she should care. She smiles at him very passive-aggressively and he turns back to his amazing girlfriend who _literally moved space_ just to be with him.

They find the radio, but it's damaged and Clarke knows that they'll need more than just broken wristbands to get it working again.

"I know a place," she says, and even Finn looks surprised. She's made sure her bunker is hidden well, so that he couldn't find it on his little adventures, and she's suddenly very glad. She doesn't trust the peacemaker as far as she can throw him and Raven deserves better.

(Clarke can see something dark in his eyes, and she hopes that Finn is never alone, because if she's right he's only so imperfect and _good_ as long as he has people to protect.)

* * *

Bellamy and Finn go with her and Raven and she hates it but has no to she choice unless she snags to admit that she has a personal life. Which, you know, she really does not want at all.

She leads them to it and Finn is too curious for Clarke's liking. His girlfriend is _right there_. And, you know, she's fantastic. Sadly straight, so even if Clarke was interested or available, Raven is not. Raven tells Clarke that she's badass and save-the-world-first. Clarke doesn't see the point in arguing; she knows it's at least partially true.

Raven also compares her to her mother, and Clarke clenches her jaw. "Chill," Raven says with a light, "it was a compliment. Abby's badass." For Raven, someone without a proper mother figure, Clarke figured Abby probably is, as Raven puts it, "badass" or "awesome", but to Clarke she is not.

"Yeah," she says trying not to sound bitter, "mother of the year." Raven doesn't push it, but she asks about the ground. Clarke tells her the same thing she's told everyone else: there are grounders here, the season vary from extreme to almost all the exact same- rainy,- and that there are people living on the ground. Raven swears up a storm at that, and Clarke grins. She also tells Raven that they respect strength and that the arkers are part of a coalition now, thanks to Clarke. She leaves out what she's had to do to get to that point, what she's had to go through.

She's still not sure how she'll convince the kids not to head for mount weather without making herself seem weak. Lincoln assures her she's not weak; that she's the only person have ever escaped the drainage torture rooms, that the scars she has from it are trophies. Clarke gets that, she really does. She likes her scars, as they remind her of everything she's survived. They tell her that no matter how bad she's got it, she's had worse. But she doesn't think the arkers will understand that. They've not had to survive six months in hell, alone, unequiped, unprepared. She doesn't know what they think, if they think that she got some special leeway or cabin to hide out in as some privileged benefit. Whatever they think they know about Clarke, it's wrong.

She's determined to show them that. She _needs_ to show them that; their survival depends on it.

* * *

Raven laughs and threads her fingers through the flowers on the sides of the path in amazement. Finn grins at her, and even Bellamy cracks a smile.

"Raven," Clarke says, "I know you just got here, but we need to keep moving."

* * *

Of course Clarke would say that, Raven figures with a laugh. She's a lot like her mother. Just less... Abby-ish. She's not sure what it is. Clarke is kind, Raven can already tell that, but she carries herself like she doesn't trust anybody or anything. Like she's forgotten what it's like to have friends, or a family, or to not be alone. Or maybe Raven's just deciphering all her signals wrong, who knows. Not Raven.

Clarke abruptly kneels down, halting the little group, and moves aside shrubbery to reveal a metal hatch, which she twist to open before hopping inside. They wait for a moment, and then Clarke calls, reluctantly, that they can come in.


	7. Part 7

**A/N: Hello again! I'm sorry my absence was so much longer than intended, but all of your sweet reviews really warmed my heart. As for this chapter, I don't like it, but school break is soon so I can write more. :)**

* * *

It's _amazing_. Bellamy actually smiles. Clarke is busying herself by lighting candles, and Bellamy finds himself turning in place to take everything in, as are Finn and Raven.

Pelts and dry herbs dangle from the ceiling, and there's a real bed surrounded by fur rugs and a couch with blankets draped over one side. Clarke throws them a look over her shoulder.

"Come on," she calls, and they walk slowly into Clarke's life.

* * *

Charcoal drawings cover the concrete walls, and Bellamy sees Finn studying them in amazement. Bellamy's eyes are drawn to the massive pile of weapons, some still bloodied. Clarke moves aside some boxes and rummages around, and Bellamy picks up a photo that sits on a desk. It's of a family, and Clarke's drawn their faces on the desk beside the photo, in some kind of tribute to the people that the bunker was designed for.

Clarke shrugs off her jacket and hangs it onto a dagger sticking out from the wall, and Bellamy swallows a bit because she's got a short t-shirt on, finally revealing some of the scars on her body.

There's the brand, and some long, nasty scars on her forearms. Her tattoos seem eerily dark in the candlelight, and one half of her right arm seems as though it was burned badly. He's not sure what from.

Clarke doesn't seem to notice everybody's stares and pulls out a remote-controlled car triumphantly before tossing it to Raven.

* * *

Raven and Clarke make light conversation- well, as _light_ as Clarke can really get,- but Bellamy and Finn are both drawn to the same thing.

A series of images on the walls, in a darker corner of the bunker.

The very first, set a bit away from the others, depicts a man being sucked into the inky blackness of space, another hand reach out to try and grab him. The hand behind the first is larger and looks as if it pushed him, but both hands are feminine. (It's a bit disturbing, Bellamy thinks.)

The real first is clearly when Clarke landed on earth; the small dropship is contrasted against vines and tall oak trees. Footsteps lead from the door and into the trees. The next is of a creek hidden by branches, a masked figure with a spear crouched by its waters. Bellamy assumes that this was her fist grounder sighting. He feels sympathy twinge in his gut and thinks it's just because Clarke is only a bit older than Octavia and he'd hate for this to happen to Octavia. The next image is darker: an intimidating woman with braids in her hair and paint on her face, eyebrows lowered angrily, two men in masks behind her.

The next image is different. A man and woman stand side by side. One holds a lash in one hand, the other carries a burning katana. Two hands stretch out in front of them, wrists bloodied and shackled. Both people wear merciless looks and their weapons drip with blood. The fingernails of the person's hands have been torn off. Behind the two people, Lincoln stands, face twisted in sympathy, hands clutching a waterskin. Finn's lips are pressed tightly together, and Bellamy knows his are the same.

The next image on the wall is of the first grounder woman again, raising a knife menacingly. The one after that is blurrier, a man in a gas mask, carrying a gun, tilted sideways.

And the next image: two people hanging upside down, tubes dangling them down, the view from inside a cage, a battered hand holding weakly onto the bars. Bellamy feels ill.

The next image is of those same gruesome hands choking a man to death.

After that, it's horrible- mutiliated faces leering down into a cart, limbs piled over two arms raised in protection, awful shadows reflecting onto the floor. A machine gun, clenched in hands that drip with blood. A drop, straight down into a dam, gun falling beneath Clarke- because Bellamy knows it's Clarke, he does, so why does it seem to hard to recognise tough, brave warrior Clarke with this one?

Lincoln, his hands fixing a trap. Nyko, his hands bloody and he bandages somebody's abdomen. A little boy, hiding behind tattered skirts.

A panther jumping out, a two headed dear lying lifelessly on the ground, a beautiful woman smiling across a fire.

A man who stabs the foot lying in front of him with a sneer. The same man, clasping a foreman. The same man again, cleaner, kneeling down in front of someone's feet. A woman with war paint, a dagger twisting in her hand. The same woman, from a view on the ground as if Clarke was bowing, and then an image of the woman bowing to Clarke.

The ark, crashing from the sky. This last image is more rushed, as if it was done in a hurry. Bellamy looks back at the first few, the one where Clarke appears to be in a cage. He and Finn exchange worried, grim glances, but Clarke suddenly calls them away and they are forced to drop the matter.

* * *

Raven and Monty hit it off straight away and fix the radio, which is useful because on the way back to camp Finn took a detour ("Need a drink _my ass,_ " Clarke snarls and Bellamy bites back a snort,) and managed to get stabbed.

Raven sees red and Bellamy is right there beside her, but Clarke stops them both with hands infront of her and a very angry glint to her eyes that even Raven knows not to cross. "I don't know what he did," she says, referring to the groaning boy propped against a tree stump, "but there are two sides to this story. If you attack them, Bellamy, you're starting a war that you can't win." He snarls and rages and says there's already a war going on, which she would see if she just paid attention to what was going on and stopped trying to justify their actions.

"They aren't even people!" He roars, and Clarke's hands are shaking. Monty and Jasper cower in the corner and Miller winces like he fears for his best friend's life. "Stop pretending they're your friends! They're the bad guys, and if you'd stop being so damn distracted you'd realise it!" Clarke walks up very calmly and stares him down, despite her size and age. She points to the door and tells him very lowly to _get. out_.

* * *

He does.

* * *

Clarke doesn't talk to the woman speaking on the radio. She gestures for Raven to explain what's going on, and Abby Griffin knows the worried and slightly confused mechanic is hiding something but doesn't press it. Monty elbows Jasper and Jasper passes a bottle of moonshine to Clarke, who uses it to sterilize her knife and hands before inspecting the wounds with a critical eye.

"Dammit," she suddenly growls and Abby goes silent, "dammit, they used poison."

Abby's breath is catching and Raven sends a worried glance to the blonde warrior. "Is that Clarke?" Abby asks, and Clarke grits her teeth.

"Yes," she snaps, "hi. If you'll excuse me, I have to find a friend." She throws her knife into the wall and Jasper jumps. To Raven, Clarke continues, "I don't have time to get the anitdote from the bunker. I'll have to get it from one of my trikru friends."

Raven nods and stalls Abby, and Monty watches as Clarke runs into the forest and sips his moonshine.

* * *

She comes back with a dark-skinned, tattooed man, and Nathan Miller nearly shoots him in shock. "Put that damn thing away," Clarke snaps, pushing away the automatic that he and Bellamy found in a bunker, and her companion ducks around Nathan carefully, avoiding the gun precisely.

Lincoln nods at Bellamy and Octavia watches him in interest, but he is torn away from her avid gaze when Clarke fires out orders and questions in trigadesleng and they hunt through his pack for the correct antidote, discussing what had likely happened.

" _Tristan?"_ Clarke suggests while prodding Finn's stomach, and Lincoln shakes his head.

 _"Finn wouldn't be alive,"_ He points out, and Clarke hums in agreement.

 _"One of Semment's men?"_

Lincoln looks up at her, eyes dark. _"I hope not,_ " he growls, _"This is not his territory. Anya would not be pleased."_ Clarke frowns back, shaking his head slightly.

 _"Ontari's men? The thieves we've been hearing about on the road to Polis?"_ Lincoln presses his lips together and furrows his brow, silent in his contemplation.

* * *

They say no more until Finn's fever breaks.


	8. Part 8

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your lovely comments! They're the only thing keeping me from giving up on this story, so they really mean a lot. For everyone just reading this story, even just telling me what you liked or didn't like helps me with inspiration. Thank you! xx**

* * *

Gustus is waiting for her outside the camp walls.

"Wanheda," he says, and Clarke nods in greeting.

"Gustus. My people and I have been expecting you."

Gustus shifts on his feet and the corner of his mouth lifts upwards slightly. "Good," he says, and Clarke is glad she has _his_ approval, at least. He didn't expect her to persuade her people to meet peacefully. Clarke has thus far proved him wrong. She's glad; she needs any kind of support she can get with Lexa.

Lexa. The girl is a menace and Clarke admires the hell out of her for it. She'd single-handedly united the 12 clans and become Heda, while also advocating for unity and peace amongst the clans even though she was technically a tyrant. In her, Clarke sees an ally, and in her Clarke sees herself. She can't trust Lexa but she can predict what Lexa will do. Clarke thinks that's probably good enough.

Gustus leads her to Lexa's tent and they wait patiently as Lexa's warriors file out, Lexa reclining languidly on her wooden throne, head bed, fingers twitching on the handle of a dagger. When the tent has been cleared, Gustus bows lowly and backs up to the entrance of the tent, giving the two women space.

Clarke blinks and then Lexa's eyes are watching her carefully, fingers still on the blade embedded in her throne. "Clarke," she says cooly, and Clarke resists the urge to shift on her feet.

"Lexa," she greets. She knows Gustus despises their refusal of titles, but Clarke had already established that Lexa was no commander of hers until she had her people at her back... which she now does.

"What news do you bring?" Lexa asks, the corner of her mouth turning upwards slightly.

Clarke lifts her head. "My people have landed safely," she says, "thank you for not interfering." Lexa inclines her head in acknowledgement and Clarke breathes an invisible sigh of relief then steels herself for what to come. "There are 98 of them currently, and the rest of my people decided to send them down to determine if they could survive, tracking their movements through bracelets that send information back into space."

Lexa frowns. "I thought you were the the test."

Clarke nods. "I was, but as you know my ship was destroyed, so that nobody knew if I was still alive or not." Lexa says nothing, so Clarke continues. "The kids they've sent down are young. Untrained. They're wild, angry, but they won't cause trouble. I can keep them in trouble." Lexa nods slowly.

"My people did wonder why _youngon_ were sent to determine the lives of _all_ the people."

Clarke shrugs helplessly. "They didn't want to risk sending valuable members of the community in case something went wrong. These kids were considered expendable." She can see from the furrow in Lexa's brow that she doesn't like the idea of a culture that values elders over the youth, which are considered the solution, not the problem, but she knows Clarke disagrees with it too. She won't start a fight with people she can't see.

"Have they chosen a leader?"

Clarke twists her lips in annoyance, trying to quench the spark of irritation that rises when thinking about her people and their teenage rebellion. "We're getting there," she says instead of answering, "but it will require some time."

Lexa nods. "Alright," she says, "I trust you, Clarke. Don't mess this up." Clarke nods respectfully, bowing her head, and then turns as Gustus steps up to escort her out. "That went well," she mumbles, glad that she and Lexa were able to make an arrangement that worked for both of them.

* * *

Finn was dying, but now he isn't. His fever breaks and Raven cries, his clouded eyes blink up at Clarke and Lincoln and to his credit he simply smiles in weary thanks at both of them. They prop him up on bundled up blankets and a pillow from Clarke's bunker, and Raven curls into his side and plays with her necklace as they regale him with tales of the past day, Monty and Jasper enthusiastically welcoming him back into the land of the living and trying to slip him a sip of moonshine without Clarke seeing. (She does, and then she threatens to kick them both out.)

In the early hours of the morning, Bellamy comes back with a boar and stands by the fire with his arms crossed sullenly over his chest, dark eyes watching Clarke from across the fire.

"Did you talk to them about who stabbed Finn?" His voice is reluctantly curious, but there's a bite to it that warns Clarke that he won't let the matter go.

She runs her tongue over her teeth and looks up at the dark sky. "No," she manage, and cuts him off before he can wake up half the camp. "I will," she promises, "but something about it... it's not Trikru style. I think I have an idea about who did it but I'm not positive, so for now you need to keep it quiet and trust me."

Bellamy looks at her, and then back to the fire, jaw clicking, but then he nods. Clarke raises her eyebrows in surprise and thinks that maybe Lexa won't have to wait so long for her leader after all. She's glad.

* * *

"Hi, mom." A shaky breath is drawn from the other side of the radio.

"Hi, baby."

There's silence for a few moments as the two Griffin women try to figure out what to say.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah." There's another pause as Clarke can hear Abby leaning back in her chair, and can picture her tired mother nervously biting her lip, hand clenched and resting over her mouth as she tries to patch up the abyss between them.

"Are you okay?"

Clarke looks around her; at Octavia, whose sleeping head rests on Lincoln's bicep, his face a bright red; at Monty and Jasper, a mess of tangled limbs and drooling mouths; at the rain outside the tarp in the doorway, heavy and persistent. She looks at her fingers, calloused and scarred; dirt and maybe blood underneath her fingernails; at her long hair, ornamental braids dangling in front of her face.

"Mostly," she says, and means it.

* * *

 **A/N 2: Any guesses on who stabbed Finn? ;)**


	9. Part 9

**A/N: Yay! My inspiration has returned! I have a plan for this story! Rejoice! Thank you to the oh-so-kind reviews I received last chapter. They're what made me sit down and really _write_ , so I'm dedicating this chapter to those lovely reviewers, including the lovely Guest who almost reduced me to tears with their comment. Thank you, I love you! Enjoy the chapter! :D xx**

* * *

Clarke has to fight back a smile, watching the teenagers line op outside the radio tent. They don't look like the delinquents who tried to hang John Murphy now, they look like kids who can't wait to talk to their families. It's reassuring; it means there's still hope for Clarke to save them from their reckless nature. She can't reason with them when they're on a freedom warpath, so she's glad that they're lining up in an orderly fashion and chattering excitedly to one another under the warm sun. Raven is standing beside her, leaning against the wall of the dropship, and when Clarke turns to her she smiles wearily. She'd been up all night tinkering with the radio, and Clarke rests a hand on her shoulder.

"Get some rest," she says softly, and Raven rolls her shoulder along with her eyes.

"I'm waiting for Finn," she says, voice scratchy, and Clarke internally sighs. "He's out hunting with Miller and Myles."

Clarke shrugs and squeezes her shoulder. "Okay," she agrees, "but don't wait too long. Doctor's orders." Raven laughs, and Clarke heads to the other side of the camp to oversee the wall that's currently being built. She isn't sure if they really need it but after Finn everybody is on edge and Clarke needed to appease the masses- not to mention her underlying unease. Finn said that he'd just been getting a drink from the creek when somebody had grabbed him from behind and stabbed him. Everybody else accepted the story easily and Clarke didn't doubt that he _was_ stabbed, but it didn't add up. Trikru doesn't believe in unnecessary warfare, and they _trust_ Clarke. She'd spent half a year cultivating her relationship with the tree people, and for someone to throw that all away because a boy was drinking water- it didn't make sense. Clarke runs a hand through her hair and covers her eyes with the other hand to see the towering wall through the blinding sunlight; lost in her own mind. She wonders, concerned, if Roan has heard of her people's arrival. She hopes he will drop by soon, because she has questions that she's beginning to suspect only he can answer. The poison in Finn's wound comes from a flower found only in ice nation territory- but Anya would notice if an azgeda warrior slipped into her land, which meant that... somebody was working from the inside. Trikru has a traitor within it's leafy walls, and Clarke needs to find them before somebody else gets hurt, or worse.

* * *

Monty lies on the greenest grass he's ever seen and smiles a soft smile for the stars. "Can you _believe_ ," he murmurs, voice barely slurred, "that we used to _live_ up there?"

Harper giggles and Jasper snorts. "I prefer it down here," she whispers, as if she's telling them a secret, and Jasper's teeth glint in the moonlight.

"Me too!" he says, voice too loud, as always, and Monty turns his attention back up the night sky, contentment in his chest, eyes drooping closed...

"Oh my gosh!" That's Fox's voice, pulling him out of his peaceful reverie.

Harper gasps and tugs on his arm, sitting upright abruptly. "What?" Monty's voice is bleary, and she points upward in response, jaw dropped open.

"...Oh my gods." Streaks of light are cascading across the night sky, beautiful and bright, and Monty stumbles up to his feet clumsily, dimly feeling Harper's hand slipping away. The shouts and cries of the groups around them have brought Clarke and Bellamy outside, drawing them away from whatever council they held, bringing their hands up to shield their eyes.

"It's a meteor shower!" Somebody cries, and others join in with the call, but Monty distinctly sees Clarke stumble and drop her hands.

"That's not a meteor shower," says Monty, not even hearing himself over the pounding of his own heart. "Oh my _god,_ that's not a meteor shower."

The gleeful shouts don't take long to turn into horrified screams and Monty feels himself sliding back down to the ground.

* * *

"Nobody is answering the radio," says Raven. "Last thing we heard, a woman called Diana Sydney was taking power rapidly and Abby was worried she'd start spreading rumours."

"Do they think we're dead?" Finn's voice is uncharacteristically tense. "Why else would they kill all those people?"

Raven shrugs helplessly. "For all we know, we could be seeing something that happened days ago. People used to say that when you're seeing a star on earth you're seeing a ball of gas that died millennials ago. Did anybody's families say anything hinting towards a... a culling?" Around the room, people are shaking their heads, exchanging scared glances, and Raven takes a breath.

"Okay, well... I'll stay by the radio, be ready if any transmissions come through." She glances at Clarke, who nods reassuringly, an then Raven looks down at her hands, which are leaning heavily against the table, and then abruptly sits down. Clarke takes Raven's place, and the small council of delinquents shifts.

"For now, we don't know what's going on," Clarke starts of with, voice as steady as ever, "so nobody panic. Anything could've happened, so don't freak out and don't spread rumours. All we can do down here is make sure that when... the rest of them arrive, they'll land in a safe place. We can do that. Bellamy and I will be heading off to a bunker I found a few weeks ago to get more equipment and guns for hunting." She doesn't say and for _protection and security_ , but they all hear it anyways. "We'll go as soon as we can, which may not be straight away." She pauses for the muttering to die down before continuing. "There's a storm coming, and I don't mean that metaphorically." Jasper cracks a half-smile, his eyes wide and wilder than they used to be, fingers twitching nervously. "The clouds you can see to the east are rain-clouds, and storms down here are _dangerous_ , so our priority is to keep everybody safe and prepared." She pauses again and looks at Bellamy briefly, who steps up beside her, away from the wall where he had been standing, arms crossed over his chest, now splaying his fingers on the metal table.

"We need tarps in front of every drop ship door, and for tonight everybody's going to be out of the tents and back in here- I know, I know,- but we need to be ready. Like Clarke said, this is going to be a big storm. Soon as we can, we need to be bringing in our gear to keep it from getting ruined. Got it?" Everybody nods and he nods too, mouth set grimly in determination. "Good. Get to it." The little council, composed of Monty, Jasper, Clarke, Raven, Finn, Miller, and Octavia, quickly dissipates, a little less scared than before.

When this storm hits, they'll be ready.

* * *

"Ey, Dax, I need you over here," Miller calls, above the now-howling wind, and Dax looks up and waves his hand to show he's understood. He slips the short metal piece he'd just pried off the dropship into his jacket pocket and jogs over to where Nathan Miller is trying to lift up a box of nuts. Dax grabs the other end of the box and shuffles with Miller into the dropship, pausing for Harper to pull open the tarp, and accidentally makes eye contact with Bellamy, who is standing beside Octavia. Bellamy nods at him in greeting and Dax nods back, trying not to feel guilty for what he plans to do as soon as he gets the opportunity.

He's a delinquent, after all, but more than that he's a momma's boy. He won't let anything happen to his mother. Bellamy would understand.


	10. Part 10

**A/N: You can probably tell, but this isn't following the exact chronological timeline of events from the show. Just to clear up any confusion. :) Also! I don't have a beta, obviously, so any mistakes are entirely my own. As for this chapter- knock knock, get the door, it's** **emotion** **!**

* * *

"Why'd you ask me to come?" Clarke turns her head back towards Bellamy and ignores his question. She brushes aside the branch in front of her face and steps into the forest clearing, stepping aside for Bellamy to join her. He's still waiting for her answer, patiently, and Clarke sighs.

"Because," she says, "I thought we needed to talk." He raises an eyebrow and she pushes back the annoyance that rises up whenever he pulls that smug expression and instead leads him towards the bunker where they're heading.

"The earthborn- _grounders_ ,- they aren't going to be patient forever. We need to talk abut the dynamics of leadership. In order for us to present a strong front, we need to decide on a leader."

Bellamy's jaw clicks and he follows her tentatively into the bunker, shining his flashlight around in curiosity, pulling a face at the skeleton bowed over in the corner. "Hell of a place to die. I thought- I assumed the grounders were a female-led society, based off what you told me."

Clarke tilts her head in acquittal and pries off the lid from one of the many metal barrels in the dimly-lit concrete room. "Not entirely. Tristan is one of Anya's top commanders and he isn't female. The Commander is, yes, and Trikru is, as are Floukru and Azgeda, but there are plenty of villages and tribes led by men as well. They don't discriminate; if there was a man better suited to their job and aggressive enough to take it, the people wouldn't protest."

Bellamy grunts to acknowledge her words and frowns at the contents of his barrel- a thick, murky liquid. "Yeah, well, I wanted to talk to you about something else, too- wait, is this _oil_?"

Clarke shrugs. "Smells like it. Last time I was here I didn't stick around long but I did find a few guns out by the front, unusable though. I thought maybe we could find more here, but..."

Bellamy sighs, and Clarke can hear the tension in him, before he gives a growl of annoyance and pushes over the entire barrel.

"Bellamy-" Clarke growls in irritation, but she abruptly cuts herself off when the two hear numerous objects clattering across the concrete floor. Bellamy exchanges glances with her and then crouches down, holding up a machine gun with a triumphant grin.

* * *

They've started heading back to base camp when Clarke remembers what Bellamy had started saying before they'd discovered how the guns were being stored. "What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?"

Bellamy looks at her out of the corner of his eyes and lowers his eyebrows defensively, to her surprise. "Bellamy?" She takes a worried step closer to him, and he stiffens. "Is something wrong?"

He brushes her off with a roll of his shoulder and then blurts out, "I don't think I'm the right person for this." Clarke raises her eyebrows in surprise and then something clicks together in her mind with an ominous air.

"You're running away." It's not a question and they both know it, but Bellamy's eyes are beseeching when they look at her.

"Clarke-"

She interrupts him, a hot pit of anger broiling in her stomach. "Is this because Octavia is mad at you?"

"She doesn't need me-"

"She's seventeen! She'll get over herself. You had a fight, so what?"

Bellamy's face is angrily set when he turns to face her, brushing her hand off his arm as she pulls him towards her.

"You've clearly got things under control here-"

"Did you even _hear_ what I said back there-"

"Miller can help you run the place if you want-"

"I don't want _Miller_ to help me,-"

"It's better for everyone-"

And then a bullet is whizzing past her ear and she tugs Bellamy down in the nick of time.

"What the hell?"

"Shh!" Clarke clamps a hand on his arm and her eyes skim the trees, searching for anything out of place. She rolls to her side and onto her feet, crouching down, when she sees him suddenly. "Dax?"

Dax is a tall boy, with a set jaw and lowered eyebrows, hands gripping a stolen machine gun without trembling. "What- what are you doing?" She keeps her voice steady, mind racing, and hears Bellamy clamber slowly to his feet behind her. Her fingers twitch towards one of her knives, and Dax shuffles his grip on the gun, making her freeze, as he steps forward slowly.

"Sorry, Clarke." His voice is low and Clarke sticks a hand out to keep Bellamy from making any sudden moves. "You weren't supposed to see this," he continues, "I never wanted you to get caught up in this."

"Put the gun down, Dax," Clarke says slowly, working a knife down her sleeve frantically. "Nobody has to get hurt."

Dax shakes his head, still moving forward. "Can't do that," he says, sounding almost apologetic. "He's got my mom. Says I have to do this."

Clarke shoots her eyes to Bellamy, who's clearly as confused as she is. "Who? Who says that? Who's got your mom, Dax?"

He twists his mouth and shifts his grip on the gun again, making Clarke tense her muscles. "Can't tell you that," he says, "sorry." With those words he shoots the gun again and as Clarke ducks Bellamy jumps forward and tackles Dax to the ground, arms around his waist. As he falls the gun is pushed out of his hands and Clarke scrambles to pick it up as Bellamy punches Dax in the face a couple of times, giving a strained grunt as Dax jolts to the side and flips himself so he's straddling Bellamy, hands around his throat.

"Dax!" Her voice is hoarse but still steady, and her fingers on the gun's trigger won't falter. She doesn't want to shoot him but if she has to... " _Dax!_ " He doesn't look at her and Clarke can hear the desperation in her voice. "Dax! Let him go!" Dax doesn't move but then- Bellamy. His fingers are slick with blood as Dax chokes and gurgles and slides off him, landing in a heap. Clarke slumps down against a tree and throws the gun to her side, one hand covering her mouth. The bolt Bellamy had shoved into the younger boy's neck is sticking out prominently and suddenly Clarke isn't seeing him anymore but rather somebody else, the first person she'd failed to save-

Bellamy collapses next to her and she looks up at him blearily. "Are you okay?" Her voice is scratchier than normal and his cheeks are glistening as he leans his head against the tree bark.

"I'm a monster." His voice is desolate, and Clarke pants as she turns to face him.

"Bellamy, no," she says, "You did what you had to. You saved us." She tries to smile, weary and exhausted as she is. "You can't leave, okay? I need you. We all need you."

Bellamy shakes his head and she sees for the first time how fragile he is right now. "My mother," he says, voice choked, "my _mother_ , she raise me to be _good_ , she raised me-"

"Bellamy." Clarke places a hand on his shoulder and takes a long breath. "Who we are, and who we need to be to survive, are two very different things." Bellamy looks at her and she rests her head against the tree with a thump. "Come back with me. Please."

He nods jerkily and she releases a breath she isn't sure how long she was holding.

* * *

Finn pushes his way past the flaps in the doorway and Clarke looks up from the map she and Lincoln were bowed over with a smile.

"Can I help you, Finn? Is it your wound? Are you okay?"

He shakes his head and twists his fingers.

"No, um, could I talk to you outside?"

She shrugs and follows him outside.

"It's nothing serious," he assures her," and offers her his charming smile, "I just thought you might like this. I know you like artsy stuff, and," he passes her a little metal figurine of a two-headed deer and Clarke beams before her smile falters.

"Thanks, Finn," she tells hims softly, "but this isn't going to work."

Finn stutters and looks alarmingly like a kicked puppy, and Clarke presses her lips together and gently returns his deer. "You have a girlfriend," she says. "And I'm not interested. Sorry. Cute deer, though. I'm sure Raven would love it." She walks back into the tent and Lincoln looks up and smiles in greeting.

"What was that about?" He asks, tone curious, and Clarke shrugs.

"Just taking care of some unfinished business," she says lightly, and returns to making plans with her best friend.


	11. Part 11

**A/N: Hey everyone! Just a heads up that we just moved house and I've got lots of exams and projects coming up, so I don't have much time to write right now, but I'll do my best! Enjoy the chapter, and feel free to leave me a review! ;) xx**

* * *

"What did you do?" Clarke looks up, surprised, just in time to see Raven storming in, cheeks flushed from more than just the morning chill, fists clenched.

"What?" Raven storms up to her, leaving them nose to nose, and bares her teeth angrily, brows low on her face.

"What did you _do_?" She repeats, less angrily and a bit more devastated. A sinking feeling begins to form in Clarke's stomach.

"Raven," she says, trying to stay calm, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Raven scofffs and pushes away, and Clarke slowly puts down the walkie-talkie she'd been holding. "What happened?"

Raven turns briefly to her and then spins away, one hand on her waist and the other pressing against her forehead and through her hair. "What do you think?" She cries, voice too loud. "He broke up with me!"

Clarke deflates, worry giving way to anger. "He- what? Raven, what _happened_?"

Raven faces her again, and Clarke can see, for the first time, the tears in her eyes. "I knew he was different, of course I did, Finn and I- I know everything about him, or I used to, of course I knew he'd changed, I knew he liked you, but I thought-" She takes a breath. "I was cutting his hair and he said we needed to talk and I didn't _want_ to talk, I wanted to _move on_ , y'know, and then he said- he _said_ \- we should take a _break_." She laughs; a suddenly brittle sound. "A break. Finn and I, I've known him forever, he's my world, I love him, and he- he said we needed a _break_." She looks at Clarke and crumples, and Clarke instinctively puts her arms around the feisty mechanic, putting aside her own feelings on the matter aside for Raven. (She'd thought it was over, she'd foolishly believed the problem to be solved, god she'd been so _stupid._ )

"Are you-" Raven's voice is choked but Clarke knows what she's going to say.

"No. Raven, I told him he needed to stop chasing after me and go back to you." Raven sniffles and Carke pulls back to look into her eyes, keeping a firm grip oon her arms, and cracks a smile for the Latina before her. "Raven, you literally moved heaven and earth to be with him. If he doesn't see that, at least right now, then that's nobody's fault but his own. Yeah?"

Raven gives a watery chuckle and Clarke grins. "Yeah," she agrees. "For now."

* * *

"C'mon, Clarke," says Jasper, and Clarke resists the temptation to throw a wrench at the younger boy.

"I said no, Jasper," she reminds him, and he pouts.

" _Please_."

" _No_."

"Monty will cry."

"What?"

"I swear on my mother's life, Monty will actually cry. Real tears."

"...Fine."

" _Yes!_ " Jasper pumps his fist in victory and runs outside to alert the others that Clarke, ice princess and scary doctor extraordinaire, will be participating in the most frivolous of events: unity day. Sure, Clarke knows the theory behind it isn't frivolous whatsoever. Peace, unity, strength in numbers- all things she believes in and all things she needs to embody right now, but over the decades unity day had evolved from a respectful day of thanksgiving into a time to get loud, drunk, and rowdy, and Clarke happens to be in a camp full of juvenile delinquents.

The whoops from outside the dropship have been getting more and more rambunctious and Clarke rolls her eyes as she hears a very distinctly-jasper voice yell for someone to 'chug'. Roma looks up from where Calrke's bandaging her arm and grins. "Gonna join us, doc?" she asks with a cocky smirk and Clarke rolls her eyes again.

"Hm," she said, "we'll see. You're off duty for a week, got it? Tell Bellamy I mean it-"

"No need," says Roma with a careless shrug, inspecting the arm wrapping. "He told us to listen to you."

Clarke swallows her surprise and nods firmly. "You got that right," she says instead, "now go have fun." Roma winks and begins to saunter off, with Clarke calling a hasty _"be careful!"_ behind her, chuckling as she wipes the blood off her hands with a grimy and very un-sanitary rag that'll have to do another day longer as nobody's really in a state to be fetching river water for the med bay.

Stepping outside the tent, Clarke is hit with a barrage of smiles, limbs, and drunken exclamations of her name. She hears Sterling bet Monroe his next week's entire shift of gaurd duty that she won't drink the whole night, when he thinks she can't hear, so Clarke promptly picks up a cup and gulps down the burning moonshine, and then downs another immediately after, winking at Sterling's astonished expression.

Unity day is fun, she decides a couple hours later, with Harper on one side of her and Monty on the other, laughing along as they regale Nathan Miller with tales of their lives on the ark. Unity day is fun, but not everybody's here to see it.

("Raven's not leaving the radio tent," sighed Fox, "she's so sad. I don't like it.")

The smile that lights up Raven's face as Clarke steps through the tent flaps is worth her remorse at leaving the party.

* * *

"I'm glad I met you," says Octavia, and Licoln smiles the smile that she knows he reserves for her and her alone.

"I'm glad I met you too," he says, voice gravelly, and she watches him as he hangs up the freshly-caught rabbit on his wall. His home is beautiful and intriguing and unique but it's got nothing on him. She knows that Bellamy thinks she's still the little girl hiding in the floorboards, but she isn't. She never wanted to hide under those floorboards anyways. The earth is letting a part of her free, a part she'd always had to lock up on the ark, and every day she spends on earth she feels a part of herself fall away and into the woman she's becoming.

"Lincoln," she says, and he turns with the hint of a smile on his lips. She leans forward from where she's perched on his little table and takes his face between her hands, smiling when he doesn't pull away, capturing his lips with her own. She feels contentment thrum in her heart as he wraps strong arms around her middle and carries her away.

* * *

The shouting draws them out, and Clarke just sighs. Raven looks up from her newly-dissected walkie-talkie and groans. "What now?" she complains, "What could possibly be wrong?" Clarke shrugs and jumps up, and Raven sets down her walkie-talkie in disappointment. "Just this once, Clarke, you should let them deal with it themselves," Raven says, "leave 'em out there to die. Just once, c'mon, _oh_." her teasing dwindles down as they step outside the tent and catch sight of the cause of the commotion.

It's the ark.

Or, rather, it's part of the ark. And it's soaring through the air, the aged metal a stark contrast to the night sky behind it.

And it's joyous screaming. Harper and Fox are dancing around the campfire, Sterling, Monty, and Jasper are whooping wildly, and Monroe and Miller are waving, guns dangling down their backs as their faces tilt towards the sky.

"Something's wrong," says Clarke, and Raven, beside her, exchanges a worried glance with her. "Something's wrong!"

The two women push their way through the growing crowd to reach Bellamy, who's staring at the falling ark with a clenched jaw. "Clarke," he says, when he sees them, sounding almost relieved: "What-"

"We don't know." Clarke cuts him off with no regret, eyes still fixated upon her long-past home, falling far too fast. "It's all wrong- it's going to fast. No parachute?" Icy cold fear is gripping her chest and she barely registers the sudden silence in the camp as people realise something's terribly off. "No, no, no-" Clarke says, her voice shaking for the first time in months.

Her mother said she'd be on the first exodus ship. This _is_ the exodus ship. Clarke knows it with a certainty that sets her heart pounding, and brings her crashing to her knees as the delinquents begin to scream and cry.


	12. Part 12

**A/N: I'm so sorry for the unplanned hiatus! My personal life has been not so great recently and I've just not had much time to write lately, but I promise I do have the plot planned out and everything... I just need more time, lol. (Aren't yearly exams fun :D) Anyways! Enjoy the chapter, and see the end for more notes. xx**

* * *

Lincoln doesn't _mean_ to fall in love but his plans do have a way of backfiring magnificently. Octavia is kind and fiery and he loves her and he doesn't want this night to _ever end_ , so when they hear faint screaming in the direction of the delinquents camp he groans and buries his face into the blanket.

"Lincoln?" Octavia's voice is scratchy from sleep as she rolls into him and blearily pats his entire face. "Whas' goin' on?"

He gives her an affectionate smile because _gods she's just so beautiful,_ and then stumbles to his feet. "I'm sure it's nothing, but I'll go see," he says, "you stay here." She mumbles a reply that he doesn't catch and as he pushes past the entry of home he falters.

He hears Octavia follow him a moment later because obviously she wouldn't stay put, and together they watch, hearts in their throats, as the sky comes falling down.

* * *

She feels like she's floating, soul separated from her helpless body, ears filled with cotton. The camp is still awash with horrified faces and terrified screams but for the first time, Clarke just... doesn't care. She never told her mom that she loved her. She'd told herself that she'd do it soon, that she simply wasn't ready, but now... now her mother is surely dead. Clarke's alone, and suddenly that scares her more than anything, more than the knowledge that Anya and Lexa and all of them will want to know what happened, more than the screaming kids in the camp, more than the prospect of the whole world ending.

She's alone.

* * *

Bellamy doesn't know what to do, but he should probably pretend he does. Clarke is sleeping, maybe, and she's barricaded herself into a tent. (He's not used to it, because she always wanted to take watch at night, or she'd sleep a short distance away from the group; in the trees or something. It's nothing personal, she just doesn't feel safe, and he can't judge her for it, not after he's seen the shadowy images that decorate her home.) So yeah, Clarke is missing, the exodus ship exploded, and Bellamy doesn't know what to do, so he's going to put on a show because despite himself he cares about these asshole kids and he cares that right now they're scared, and aside from Clarke he's the only one they're going to listen to.

He gives them a rousing speech (not really) and they hug each other and cling to his (empty) promises and plans to search for survivors at first light. "We need to stay safe," he says, but looking at the weary faces of the children before him he's never felt so far from it. He doesn't know how he's supposed to protect them, down on this savage and terrifying planet so different to the metal cage they grew up in. Hell, he doesn't even know how to protect himself.

When Clarke manages to stumble up to the firepit, it's only a few hours before first light, and Bellamy doesn't want to face the red circles around her eyes. He knows it's illogical and unfair to expect a seventeen (eighteen?) year old to shoulder responsibility as great as hers, but he can't help but hope that her short disappearance was the only breakdown she'd be having in the near future. If you could even call a nap a breakdown. He worries for her, (he has a niggling feeling he always will,) because he knows it's unhealthy for her to deal with the trauma of her past few months, and it's normal to reach a breaking point. He knows this, and if she'd listen he might even try to tell her, but she won't hear it and he... he can't. He can't because Bellamy is selfish and Bellamy is human and Bellamy _cannot_ look into her eyes and shoulder all her demons and responsibilities. He's got his own demons, his own responsibilities, (too many, some might say,) and he can't say that he won't bend and break under that pressure. Not now, at least. Maybe one day, when this is all over, they can have that discussion, but right now he just can't.

"Hey," he says, surprised by how scratchy his voice is from disuse, a long night of silence and sullen thoughts by the crackling fire taking it's toll.

"Hey," she returns, eyes roving over towards him before returning to the firepit. "Heard what you said last night." Bellamy shifts and tilts his head for her to elaborate, and she continues, "first light, and all that."

"Oh," says Bellamy, vaguely caught off guard, "yeah. Sorry, did you not want-"

She cuts him off. "Bellamy, what you said was fine. We need..." she clears her throat. "We need to check for survivors, and I'm coming along anyways so we might as well meet with Anya on our way back from the... the crash site." Her voice cracks at the end of her words but Bellamy doesn't comment on it.

"Okay," he agrees, "but Clarke- we're presenting ourselves as a unified front."

"What?" Clarke wrinkles her nose in confusion, finally turning to face him, "of course we are, what did you expect-"

"No," he interrupts, firmly, "I mean as co-leaders. I can't do this by myself. I need you."

Clarke stutters for a few minutes but Bellamy is firm in his decision and eventually she agrees. He can't do it by himself, he knows that, and he doesn't want to. He trusts Clarke. He trusts that together, their camp and by extension their people still in the ark, stand a better chance than if he was alone.

* * *

The walk to the crash site is mostly conducted in silence. Finn and Raven exchange worried glances while Jasper clenches his gun with twitchy fingers and Monroe watches him with a wary eye. Clarke forges ahead and Bellamy struggles to keep up, and then- they've arrived.

"Holy hell," says Raven, and Bellamy lets out a half-amused snort. _You think?_

The exodus ship- or rather, what's _left_ of the exodus ship, is scattered around the crater it created, small fires still burning in parts of the engine, metal twisted sickeningly.

Bellamy knows immediately that no one could have survived the crash, and by the way Clarke's shoulders slump, he knows she can see it too. They look nevertheless, and Raven gingerly extracts some thick, murky liquid from parts of the wreckage with a smile that makes Bellamy and Monroe take a few steps back from the grinning mechanic, exchanging glances that very clearly say _let's not_.

Right as the group is getting ready to disembark, Bellamy turns to Clarke to find her a little distance behind the group. She's kneeling down, surrounded by destruction, and Bellamy can see the rest of the group slowly stop their chatter and what what the disarmingly small girl was doing. At first, it's nothing; just sitting with her head bowed and shoulders low, but then she looks up minimally and says those words from Charlotte's cliff again: _yo gonplei ste odon._ Then she adds something else, softly spoken: " _Moba..._ _Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim._ " Bellamy still doesn't know what it means, and he can see the other members of the group exchanging glances, but none of them break the silence, waiting respectfully for their sort-of-leader to rejoin them, which she does a moment later, not another word said about her sacred-sounding words at the crash site.

* * *

Around half way back to camp, Clarke starts leading them to the bridge. "It's where Anya will meet with us," she explains. Bellamy and I will go up to talk to her, the rest of you need to stay in the trees, with guns ready."

"What?" Finn is frowning. "Surely that's not necessary! You said she said she'd be unarmed!"

Clarke sends him a Look and rolls her eyes slightly. "If you really believe Anya will be coming alone and unarmed, Finn, I haven't told you enough about grounders. She'll respect a show of strength, not cowardice, sucking up to her. Just trust me." Finn purses his lips but Raven rolls her eyes and shoves his face good-naturally.

* * *

Anya is everything he expected and yet not at all. The furs adorning her shoulders, paint on her face, and braids in her hair would have been enough to set Bellamy's pulse racing if he hadn't met Clarke, and he breaths a silent sigh of relief as the two women grip each others' forearms and exchange some words in the grounder language before Clarke turns to him and says, "This is Bellamy, my co-leader." Anya's eyes dart towards Clarke, a slightly dangerous glint in her eye, but then she looks Bellamy up and down and reaches out a forearm.

" _Heya, Belomi,_ " she says, voice chiselled and in control, "My name is Anya."

Bellamy nods slightly and shifts his position uneasily. There is an awkward pause, and then Bellamy glances at Clarke and then back to Anya and says, uncomfortably, "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us."

Anya inclines her head slowly but the light in her eyes doesn't dim and suddenly she lunges at Clarke, a dagger appearing from nowhere and held under Clarke's chin. "This was not the deal," she hisses, "we agreed on one leader, not two." She presses the blade against Clarke's skin, drawing blood, and Bellamy doesn't think.

He whips out a pistol and fires, once, hitting through the arm holding the knife to Clarke's throat. Bellamy hears a few shocked yells from behind him, where Jasper and Finn are supposed to be hiding, but he doesn't pause to think about the implications of revealing their people, as Anya screeches and drops the weapon. Bellamy makes to run back to where their people are waiting, but Clarke grabs his sleeve, eyes impossibly wide.

" _Ah_ ," Anya gasps, clenching her forearm, doubled over, eyes making contact with Bellamy, and then she laughs. It's choked and pained and makes him very, very uneasy- but it's unmistakably a laugh. "Good."

"What?" sputters Bellamy, utterly confused. "Why is no one shooting us? How is this good?" There's a pause. "did you... plan this?"

Clarke looks vaguely affronted. "No," she says, almost offended, and Anya straightens up, one hand still covering the clean hole in her arm.

" _Good_ ," says Anya, "because now I know you are loyal. I can work with loyal." She smiles, teeth bared, and Bellamy thinks that the world must _really_ be blown to hell because he sees Clarke smile back, the same way, and then Anya swings an arm over Clarke's shoulders and the women make their way to Anya's convoy, leaving Bellamy to trail behind helplessly and send confused looks over his shoulder to where he knows his people are waiting.

* * *

"No, Bellamy, you did good, really!" Bellamy sends his co-leader a surly look and buries his face beeper into his jacket. He's still confused.

"But I didn't think," he presses. "I didn't plan it. That's not strategic, or leader-like, or-"

Clarke sends him a sympathetic smile. "Maybe, maybe not," she says, "but you defintley earned their respect. They honour warriors with loyalty as strong as yours, and now you showed them how much you care about your people. It's good, really."

Bellamy lets this sin in and wonders how he's gotten to his point, where he can call a bunch of ragtag criminals his people, where he can look at a seventeen-year-old and think _leader_ , where he can shoot a (possibly crazy, he's still sure,) imposing leader in the arm at the first sign of danger towards one of his people, (maybe,) without even thinking of the consequences that his actions would have on the treaty or his people.

Clarke laughs at him, squeezes his shoulders, and wanders off. Bellamy watches her go and then shakes his head. "Grounder girls are crazy," he mutters, and a passing Harper sends him a bemused smile, but he doesn't even know to to explain so he just shrugs hopelessly.

* * *

 **Translations** **:**

 _Clarke: Your fight is over. I'm sorry... May we meet again._

 _Anya: Hello, Bellamy._

 **A/N 2: Yay! Another chapter down! :D I have a question for you now, lovely readers: what do you think of the switching POVs? Should I stick to Clarke or mix it up? Who would you like to see a POV from? Excited to hear your answers, and yet again thank you to each reader, favouriter, follower, and reviewer. Love you all! xx**


	13. Part 13

**A/N: oh look, it's the plot! Finally arriving! :D Thank you so much for your suggestions on POVs and all-round lovely commentary! Y'all are the literal best, guys, no joke. Special shoutout to _jazminp_ who literally made me scream and dance around my room. Also, just a reminder that i don;t have a beta, so any mistakes are my own. Enjoy the chapter! xx**

* * *

"I'm so sorry, Clarke," says Lincoln, and she looks at her (now) oldest friend with a half-smile. "I'm- I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."

Clarke brushes him off as best as she can when he's sitting beside her, her shoulder leaning into his sturdy chest.

"It's okay," she says, but it isn't. It's not okay, and she's trying to make it okay again, but Clarke has learned that there are some things you need to move on from from. She loves Lincoln, and he's her best friend, and she isn't going to lose her truest ally because he had a chance to kiss the beautiful girl he'd been thinking about for days now. Speaking of... "What about you? You and Octavia have fun?"

Lincoln goes dark red and shushes her. "Shh! Bellamy could be... anywhere." He looks around them distrustfully and Clarke bites down a laugh, letting out an ugly snort of mirth.

"He's not waiting behind a tree for you to admit you slept with her shoulder, Linc."

"You don't know that!" His eyes are wide and earnest and Clarke rolls hers in response. "He's got it in for me, and besides it's his _sister_. He's just waiting for me to mess up, and if he found out-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Clarke rolls her eyes again and nudges him with her elbow. "Still. Was it... was it okay?"

Lincoln's face goes all wilty and dreamy, and Clarke grins. "Better than okay," he says. "I... I really like her, C." Clarke's smile turns soft, and she takes a moment to marvel that in the middle of such tension, her best friend has found love.

"I'm happy for you, Lincoln," she tells him, earnestly, and he smiles sappily at her.

"She reminds me of you, a bit," he says, and Clarke huffs, a bit disdainfully, not seeing the connection.

"Hey," Lincoln says reproachfully, "I mean it! You both aren't afraid to stand up for what you believe in, you both adapt quickly, and you've both got dangerously fiery tempers."

"I do not," Clarke mutters, but she knows better than to try and prove him wrong; his words carry truths that Clarke isn't ashamed of. She huffs and ignores his triumphant smirk. "Yeah, well," she counters, "only one of us is keeping you warm at night." He splutters and turns red again and Clarke chortles away, surrounded by her best friend and the crackling fire and all the love in the world. (Or at least, all the love that she needs.)

* * *

The peaceful illusion only lasts for a day and a half, and Clarke has the integrity to realise she was lucky it lasted that long... which doesn't stop her from internally smashing her head against a wall before she runs over to the commotion. It's one of the boys stocking nuts, who's suddenly collapsed, surrounded by nervous teenagers. "Move out of the way," Clarke growls, and they obediently step aside to let her pass, and what she sees makes her blood run cold and slow in her veins.

"Nobody touch him!" She yells, but it's too late: one lanky teen is reaching up to his eyes with a perplexed expression while the girl's eyes next to him roll back in her head and she falls to the floor, as the kids scramble back, panicked and confused.

Clarke swears viciously and runs a hand through her hair, left open for a brief moment, before she turns to the rioting crowd around her and sets her hands on her hips.

* * *

Octavia pushes through the flaps to the dropship with a grunt, carrying a metal tin of water in her arms.

"Clarke, where d'you want this?" She calls out, and after a moment Clarke looks away from Fox, a scarily young teen with bleeding eyes, to point to the centre of the room. Octavia nods in acknowledgement and weaves around the makeshift hammocks to reach the allocated location, trying for a reassuring smile when a half-awake teenager she vaguely remembers blinks at her in muted fear. Once she's set down the water bucket, she wets a definitely unhygienic rag and dabs it on the forehead of the nearest patient, wiping her sticky hair back off her forehead and making a mental note to ask Lincoln to braid it back later... if only her awful brother would let her out of his or Clarke's sight for two damn seconds.

Bellamy, (or Bella-worst, as Octavia has spitefully christened him in her mind,) was told by _someone_ (Octavia suspects Miller, that _snitch_ ,) that she wasn't in her tent last night, and the big bad brother had stormed up to her and told her, in no uncertain terms, that she had to stop interacting with Lincoln- for her own safety. Octavia had snappishly retorted that he had no proof, but then sunk her own ship when she flipped him off and confirmed his suspicions.

Octavia is annoyed just _thinking_ about it. Clarke stumbles up to her a few minutes later, and Octavia winces, taking in the blonde's appearance. Clarke's hair is knotted and scraggly, held back by two thin strands of hair, curls running rampant in the stagnant infirmary air. The shadows under her eyes are so pronounced that they may jump of her face to join their brethren on the walls, and her eyes are alarmingly glassy as she takes the rag from Octavia's hands and rhythmically resumes dabbing the patient's forehead.

"You don't look so great, Clarke," Octavia says, against her better judgement, and Clarke sends her an annoyed look.

"Thanks, Octavia," she says, a bite to her voice that the lack of sleep has brought about. Octavia doesn't take it to heart and instead gnaws on her lip worriedly. "Maybe you should get some rest."

"No." Clarke interrupts. "I'm the only one who knows how to treat this. Thanks for worrying, but it's unnecessary." She tries for a smile and turns away, and Octavia takes a breath and clenches her jaw. As much as she'd like to shout some sense into the older girl, she knows that there are some battles one can't win, and with Clarke every battle is a lost cause. She'd be a fool not to back off, but that doesn't mean she has to be happy about it.

* * *

Clarke is drawn back into the (metaphorical and literal) light only an hour or two after Octavia stops talking to her. Clarke appreciates the thought behind Octavia's words, really she does, but she's been taking care of herself for far too long to give up her independence without a fight. She's the best equipped to help the sick kids, and she's the best equipped to help herself. This is what she tells herself, and this is why she ignores the voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Wells or Lincoln that whispers how badly she needs rest.

She'll be fine; she always is, and she's seen this before. It hadn't been pretty, it had been gruesome and horrifying and terrible. Clarke had gone days afterwards with hands under her eyes, paranoia making her fingers pull away from her cheeks red every time. She'd been lucky enough not to catch the disease, for reasons unknown. Nyko hadn't know either, when she'd asked, grumbling something about fate and destiny and the will of the gods, so Clarke had sighed and turned away. Now, though, she almost wishes she'd asked more questions. Poor Fox is only fourteen, and Clarke can't unsee the way a little girl in the affected village had gone slack, blood dribbling weakly from her glassy eyes.

"Azgeda," Nyko had said gruffly. "This is their work." Clarke doesn't know what that means for them now, for her sky people, but she knows it's bad. Azgeda shouldn't have a bone to pick with her, not with her people, not anymore. They shouldn't have the gall. Lexa had made it clear that the sky people were to be left alone, and even if the ice nation wouldn't respect that, how would they cross Trikru territory? These thoughts all swim murkily through Clarke's mind but exhaustion dims the edges and she resolves to answer those questions at another time.

Back in the present, Clarke sighs and makes her way to the dropship hatch with a scowl, unhooking a rifle from the wall as she goes. Once she's blinked past the blindingly bright sunshine, her eyes meet Bellamy's. She assumes that another teenager has collapsed, if the crowd is anything to go by, and trudges down the dropship ramp cautiously, raising her eyebrows at her co-leader.

"Everything okay in there?" He calls out, and Clarke shrugs wearily. "Need anything?"

She cracks a smile. "Some proper medicine would be nice," she admits with a half-smile, watching his smirk grow.

"I'll see what I can do, Princess," he laughs, and Clarke rolls her eyes as she heads over to the dropped kid. "Where's Octavia?"

Here Clarke pauses. She'd sent Octavia out to find Lincoln, who'd bring Nyko to camp. Clarke can't treat this epidemic by herself, not anymore. "Clarke?"

She meets her eyes to his reluctantly and steels her shoulders for his anger. "I sent her to find Lincoln."

"What?" Bellamy's voice is clipped and angry, and Clarke internalises a groan. They'd been going so well, too.

"She'll be fine. Promise." Bellamy's eyes flash as he readjusts the grip on his rifle.

"She gets hurt, you and I are gonna have problems," he announces, tone lowered threateningly, and Clarke resists the urge to sock him in the jaw. She knows he's worried, and betrayed, but still... she nods shortly before backing up as another teen drops down. People scream and shove each other, holding their guns warily, and Clarke feels her patience run thin as she turns on her heel, storms back inside, and returns outside with a machine gun on her shoulders.

 _Bang. Bang. Bang._

Everybody freezes and Clarke forces her weary legs to move forward. "Stop it-" she attempts, before abruptly keeling over, groaning when Finn darts forward to sweep her up into his arms, in classic Finn-style. "Finn, no!" Raven cries, but her voice cuts off as her boyfriend looks down at Clarke in concern.

"I'm fine," she tries to say, pushing him away feebly, and can see through half-lidded eyes the way that he snorts, before carrying her inside, lowering her into a hammock when Murphy- of all people, the psychopath- moves out for her. She wants to be annoyed, but when she manages to lift a hand and swipe it under her cheek, she freezes. Her scarred and calloused fingers shine red, and that blood isn't all new. She must have been infected for a while before noticing. She tries to push Finn away, _leavegobesafeit'snotsafe,_ and he meekly steps back, a worried Bellamy hovering at his shoulder.

Clarke hopes that Lincoln comes quickly, because she isn't sure who's going to help her helpless people while she's passing out, blood streaming from under her eyes.

* * *

"That's not Lincoln," says Miller.

"No shiz, Sherlock," snaps Bellamy, and adjusts his grip on his rifle. Nyko watches him warily and then barrels past them and into the dropship, a bushel of herbs clenched in his fingers.

The boy who trails behind the surly healer eyes Miller and Bellamy distrustfully, arms wrapped around a leather pouch, hesitating a moment but then following Nyko when the older man makes a gruff noise in the distance.

Raven follows him with her eyes, snorting. "Aren't you going to follow them?" Bellamy sends her an annoyed look but does as she suggested, and Raven rolls her eyes, taking his place.

Monty, beside her, points out the two approaching figures in excitement, and Raven gives a nod in greeting as Lincoln and Octavia jog up to the dropship a moment later.

"Where's Clarke?" Lincoln says, sounding panicked (in a very calm, Lincoln-like manner,) and Raven jerks a thumb behind her, watching as the duo hurry inside the surely over-crowded makeshift medbay.

"Who was the kid?" Monty asks after a moment, and Raven shrugs. Her mind keeps replaying the way that Finn had rushed forward without a second thought, his arms catching the falling Clarke, no thought of the consequences. "You're a kid yourself, Monty," she snaps, too harsh, and he sticks out his tongue, wrinkling his nose at her.

They stand in silence until the aforementioned kid walks out calmly, entire stance defensive as he glances around him and at their flimsy camp.

"Hey!" Monty's voice wobbles a bit but the kid turns nevertheless, making his way over to them uncertainly.

"Me?" His voice is surprisingly low, and Raven takes the time to take in his appearance, braids and leather clothes and angry eyebrows.

"Yeah, um, how's it going?"

The boy shrugs. "She will be okay," he says, and then pauses before saying, "You did not take very good care of her."

Raven blinks.

"What?"

The boy scowls. "She was clearly unwell," he growls.

Octavia, who has just materialised, scowls. "Not like she would let me take over and get some rest," she snaps, always down to fight, and the boy sends her an annoyed look.

"Then you do not know her well at all," he says, almost scornfully. "Though she may act like it, Klark is not capable of carrying the whole world on her shoulders."

Octavia splutters and he shifts, stubbornly meeting all of their eyes. "You should be kinder to her," he says. "If you are not, I will know."

Raven raises an eyebrow. "Who are you again?"

"Artigas." He bares his teeth. (Raven can see Jasper and Harper being drawn towards the conversation and swallows a sigh.)

"You two friends?"

He tilts his head to one side, and Raven wonders how a boy clearly younger than her makes her feel so uneasy. He's clearly a warrior. She isn't, and, she realises with a sinking stomach, no one in their camp really is. Raven is suddenly very glad for Clarke and what she's done for them here.

"Klark saved my life," he says. "I would give mine for her." Octavia suddenly remembers why she was sent out of the medbay in the first place and drags Raven with her to refill a water bucket, and as she is towed away Raven can hear the delinquents badger Artigas with questions. (She notices that he answers in monosyllabic words and grins.) (She could get used to these _grounders_. After you get past their rough exterior, she thinks to herself, they're really rather quite likeable.)

* * *

 **A/N 2: I mean, who wouldn't be ready to die for Clarke? Let's be real, here.**

 **Artigas is a babe. 3**


	14. Part 14

**A/N: Hope you're all doing well! Lots of love from me and my writers block! xx**

* * *

Clarke can't believe this is happening. "What do you _mean_ you had a chat with some of my people?"

Artigas shrugs innocently but Clarke isn't fooled. "We just talked," He protests, and Clarke scowls and narrows her eyes, inwardly laughing at the way he flinches, even though she still lies in a hammock, bedridden and (mostly) helpless.

" _Artigas_. If you've threatened them in some way- I swear-"

He rolls his eyes. "Chill _, sis._ I promise I didn't freak them out that much."

"That much?" Clarke throws her head back in frustration, but a smile is tugging at her lips. "You probably enjoyed it, didn't you, you little _skrish."_

He snorts and looks away from her before peeking back. "Are you... feeling better?"

Clarke softens. "Yeah," she says. "Promise." And it's true, her head is clearer and her eyes shine with a healthy glow. She's healing. "Nyko fixed me up."

"Course he did," scoffs Artigas. "That was never in doubt." Clarke rolls her eyes and reaches out a hand to shove him away.

* * *

She's leaning on Lincoln when Monty runs up to her. "Murphy," he says, panting, "Bellamy. He's trying to-"

Clarke pushes off of Lincoln and races blindly towards the dropship. She's not put so much effort into keeping Bellamy alive for him to throw it all away.

The hatch is closed but that's not a problem; Clarke pushes through the tarp in the back and grips a knife between her fingers, knuckles clenched and turning white. But she listens to Murphy's words, raw and angry, Clarke chews on the inside of her cheek and then slides her knife slowly back up her sleeve. Suddenly the absences of two older boys make a lot more sense, and Clarke recalls that they were two of the four who'd been calling for his death with the Charlotte fiasco. Peeking over a crate at the back of the room, she catches a glimpse of Bellamy's stubbornly enraged (and somehow offended) expression before darting back behind it, taking a breath and steeling herself for what she's about to walk into. With that, she slowly raises herself off the ground, hands in the air, footsteps slow but purposeful as she steps out from behind the crate and shadows and directly into the fray. She's greeted by a grim sight: Bellamy's fingers are wrapped around the sloppily-crafted noose around his neck, feet braced on a box beneath him as Murphy is poised before him, expression twisted and furious.

"Murphy," says Clarke, and pauses when he whirls to face her, gun clenched in his fingers, which she can detect a slight tremor in.

"Leave, Clarke," she spits, and Clarke shoots a glance at Bellamy's face, which is looking kind of panicked now that she's arrived.

"Put the gun down, Murphy," Clarke says softly, slowly, taking another steady step forwards, keeping eye contact with him the whole while. Still looking at him, she slowly wriggles her arm until her hidden knife slips into her hand, which she then lets drop onto the floor, Murphy's wild eyes following it as it falls. Clarke can see the boys' surprise even before the knife drops, and internalises a snort. Obviously she's got more weapons stashed elsewhere, just as lethal and easy to reach- but if the ground has taught her anything it's manipulation and the value of actions over words. By dropping her weapon, she's showing him what she's here to do, and it's evidently not to take him out.

Murphy doesn't lower his weapon, and Clarke sends Bellamy a sharp look when he jerks forward, rattling his noose and spooking Murphy. "C'mon," she says. "Murphy. _Listen_ to me. You don't _want_ to do this."

"You don't know what I want, Clarke!" Yells Murphy, waving around his gun, and Clarke swallows the instinct to hurl a dagger through his hand.

"I know you killed those two boys who tried to kill you," she says, moving another two steps forward. "I know you want revenge." Murphy's hand wavers and Clarke pauses, steadying her breathing.

"You want justice." She takes another step forward, eyes locked on his face, uncertain and wary. "Just- _listen_ to me, John-" He flinches, "this _isn't what you want._ "

"I told you," he spits, "You don't _know_ -"

 _"Help_ us." She takes yet another step forward, and Bellamy writhes in place. "Work _with_ us. We're on the same side, down here."

Murphy's face twists, victory gleaming in his beady eyes, finally something she's said he can twist against her. "We're not on the same side," he scoffs, "we never were. You know _nothing_ of what I've gone through!"

Clarke pauses, hands still in the air, eyebrow raised. "Do I look _privileged_ , John? Do I _look_ like I'm better off than any of you?"

" _Yes_! You're _safe_ \- it's guaranteed- _you_ don't have to worry about someone shooting you down from the trees-"

Clarke's mouth twists into a snarl and Bellamy freezes, sensing a line crossed. "Safe," she says slowly, "Do you think I started off _safe_?" Clarke can feel pent-up rage, pushed-down indignation and spite, rising to the surface in the wake of John Murphy's careless words. "So, what? You think I just- just landed here and arranged a treaty? Just like that?" She's striding forward now, like a predator before it's helpless prey, and Murphy takes a nervous step back.

"You think I didn't have to work for this? Didn't have to _bleed_ for this? You think I don't still have to spend every waking hour trying to keep us all alive?" She yanks down the collar of her shirt. "Does this look _safe_ to you, John Murphy?" Murphy's eyes are fixated on the gnarled, ugly scar that spears through Clarke's shoulder. "Does this look like _privilege_?" She tilts back her head, exposing the thin white lines on her throat. "You think I don't know suffering?" Murphy's eyes meet hers, uncertain and afraid, rage dying and being replaced with unease and fear. "You think I don't know what it means to feel _pain_ , to feel _hopeless_?" She lashes out, grabbing onto his collar.

"I don't care what you went through up on the ark, Murphy, we all have scars. The earth is different, and we need to change with it, or we _die_. Whether you like it or not, we are on the same side down here, so choose now: will you help me keep my people safe, or will you crawl into the woods to die, alone and afraid?" She could slip a dagger into her fingers so easily, silt his throat and watch him die on the floor, but she doesn't; instead she lets go of him with a disgusted shove, watching him stumble with a contempt sneer, and then she walks past him to saw through the constraints on her co-leader.

* * *

Raven sits down beside Clarke with a grunt and a pained sigh, and the weary blonde lifts her head to send Raven a tired smile. "Hey."

"Hey," Raven agrees, pushing Clarke slightly to the side so there's enough room for both of them on the log where Clarke is slumped.

"You shouldn't be out here," Raven chides, no heat behind her words, "Nyko says you're still weak."

Clarke shrugs and bumps Raven's shoulder with her own. "Nyko doesn't know me well enough, then," she teases, and Raven rolls her eyes.

"Clearly not," she says lightly, and then her gaze drifts around them. "Why're you out here, Clarke?"

Clarke sighs, surprising herself with the exhaustion she can hear. "I just... needed a reminder." She'd thought there'd be less graves, less tears; thought she could save them all, yet here they lie, silent and still and terribly lifeless.

Raven's eyes linger on the mound of dirt that hides the body of Wells Jaha. "A reminder of what?"

Clarke tilts her head up to the sky, breathing in the trees and the plants, the clean, fresh smell of the woods filling her from head to toes with every exhale. "Why I'm doing this." She speculates after a moment. "Why we're _all_ doing this."

"Hmm." Raven shifts closer to her, silent, and the two girls soak in the forest and forget, for one moment, the weight of the world they've been given.

* * *

At first, when Raven makes her way into Bellamy's tent that evening, he doesn't know why.

"Shh," she says, finger to his lips, and then he realises, and raises an eyebrow but obliges, towering over her petite figure with a smile and a sigh, not complaining.

* * *

Across camp, unaware, Clarke dreams. Flashes of her past flit around in her busy mind, sending her unconscious body to tossing unhappily, blue eyes flickering under her eyelids.

 _Who are you? Maya's voice rings in the large room, eyes horrified and curious._

 _ **Run** , whispers gentle, beautiful Maya; face fierce, the shadows under her eyes shining like warpaint as she hands Clarke a rifle. They can't catch you if you jump. _

_Earth, Clarke, says Abby Griffin, eyes shining with a light that Clarke will grow to despise - earth is where the ark came from, little one, and where we shall return, one day-_

 _I am Lincoln, says Lincoln, back when he was Ricky, but only to her, and then his face flickers into a reaper and Clarke screams-_

 _We're prisoners inside our own heaven-hell, laughs Maya, isn't that ever so **funny** \- a bullet thunks into her skull and she fades away into the painting she'd loved so much, soul screaming like all the others- none of us is innocent, Clarke-_

 _Water fills her lungs and Clarke screams, sinking to the bottom of a lake that never ends-_

She wakes with a scream lodged inside her throat, and as the sun rises Clarke Griffin cries.


	15. Part 15

**A/N: It's holidays, y'all! Rejoice! No more school! Love you all, enjoy reading! xx**

* * *

"Azgeda?" Bellamy hates how confused he sounds but he can't really help it.

"Ice Nation. Their queen wants war within the coalition, but if we can get rid of her they won't be a problem."

"Get rid of her." Octavia's voice is flat, disbelieving.

Clarke spares her a glance, as though she's forgotten not all of her people have spent six months hardening their hearts into weapons. "Mm." She gives a curt nod and then continues. "Nia's son, Roan, is an ally of ours. If we can replace Nia with him, Azgeda won't be a concern anymore."

"But how do we know the fever came from Azgeda?"

Clarke closes her eyes. "The poison is partial to their territory," she says, for what feels like the tenth time, "but no one from Trikru could have done it, not after what Lexa said. Azgeda are the only ones who make sense."

The make-shift council exchange unhappy glances and Clarke runs a hand through her hair in frustration.

"Do have any... suspects?" Raven asks after a moment of speculation, "Anyone you know who may want to weaken us, kill us off?"

Clarke pulls a face. "Only a couple hundred dozen," she jokes weakly, and grips the edge of the table until her knuckles turn white. "But someone who had access directly to our camp?" Her voice trails off. "I don't know. Nobody in Trikru actively wants to kill me that I know of, not anymore."

"What about an inside man?" Lincoln suggests, arms folded across his chest.

"Like Murphy," Octavia agrees instantly, sending a look over to her brother, only recently saved from being the teenager's next victim.

Clarke shakes her head. "No, not Murphy, he's not suicidal..." She pushes off the table and points in Lincoln's general direction, continuing, "But an inside man? A traitor? It makes sense."

Lincoln nods. "To be _natrona_ is a great dishonour," he says. "Whoever planted the fever must be fully invested in Nia's plans, or they'd never risk it."

Clarke nods quickly, clearly thinking something through. "They'd have to be willing to turn their back on Trikru entirely, never come back. Complete betrayal."

Lincoln frowns, but before he can say anything else Monroe runs into the tent, rifle clenched in her fists. "Trikru at the gate," she bursts out, and Clarke exchanges a hurried glance with Bellamy before following Monroe out of the tnet and into the camp, making their way to the gate.

"Did they say why they're here?" Clarke asks, steps quick but not breaking into a run.

"No," replies Monroe. "They just said they wanted to talk to you."

"Okay." Clarke takes a breath as they reach the gate. "Thank you, Monroe."

She meets the three warriors at the gate and waits expectantly.

" _Wanheda_ ," says the bravest of the three, head bowed respectfully, "Anya has sent us- a girl in the village is dying. Nothing Nyko tries is helping."

Clarke pauses for a fourth of a millisecond and then she nods briskly and sends Monroe to collect her things from the medbay. The ragtag teenagers she has sworn to protect may be her people now, but her people by choice are Trikru and they need her now so she will go to then. Trikru were the first on the ground to accept her as their own (or in the sky, whispers a treacherous part of Clarke's mind,) and she will not forget that, not now, not ever.

With Finn and Nathan Miller on horses behind her, hands resting tensely on the earthborn in front of them, Clarke realises this is yet another reason she can't let war break out. If it came down to fighting, she doesn't know which side she'd be fighting for or against, and that thought scares her so much that she wraps her arms a bit tighter around the earthborn guiding the horse she rides upon.

* * *

Anya is waiting for her at the village gate, posture as regal as ever, worry displayed only in the tightening of the lines around her mouth. "Klark," she greets, "thank you for coming."

Clarke hops of the hourse with minimal difficulty (riding is not one of her strong suits, okay,) and nods. "Of course," she says, clasping one of Anya's hands with her own two. "Where is she?" She can hear Miller and Finn stumbling down behind her but keeps her attention focused on Anya as she turns on her heel, all business, and leads Clarke through the village to where the injured warrior was being held. As the two women marched through the village Clarke catches sight of Zaphin peering out from behind Nasiya's skirts, Talulla and Timone watching curiously at his side. Clarke twitches her fingers in a wave and Zaphin waves slowly back. Distantly, Clarke wonders how much they'd heard of her people and the outside world. Would they look at her differently now?

Her musing are cut short as Anya leads her inside the cabin where Clarke immediately catches sight of a girl lying, twitching, on a table. "Oh," she breathes, and rushes forward, "Tris." Her hands skim over the petite figure lying on the table and glances at Anya. "How did this happen?" She asks, and Anya purses her lips, eyes fixated on her young second.

"Someone attacked her in the woods, from behind." Her voice is lowered as not to draw any unwanted attention to her words, but Finn turns to face her, frowning, as Clarke whirls back to her patient when the girl begins to choke and gasp.

Swearing, Clarke turns her on her side, with Miller's uncertain help, and creates an cut in Tris's side. Anya shifts uncertainly and air hisses through Clarke's teeth as she drains the blood from the younger girl's lungs, taking a breath in relief when Tris relaxes.

Anya rests a hand lightly on her forehead and frowns. "She's hot," she complains, worry evident, and Clarke pushes her aside, placing her own scarred hand on Tris's forehead. "She may be septic," she hisses a moment later. "Blood infected. Anya, I need blood for a transfusion." Anya recoils.

"Who should I-"

"I'll do it," Finn offers quickly, stepping forward, offering his forearm. Clarke freezes and glances from his arm to his face and then to Anya, who nods, before dragging him over to Tris and beginning the transfusion. As his blood begins to run through Tris's body he points sloppily at Tris's back and shoulder. "What are those?"

Clarke glances at Tris and then continues her work. "Kill marks."

"What are those?"

Clarke looks up at him, the severity of the situation not enough to dull her deadpan expression. "One mark is one kill."

"Oh." Finn pauses. "She- this little girl- she's killed five people?"

Clarke raises her eyebrows and sighs. "She's Anya's second... and warriors fight to the death. It's how they learn, by experience rather than theory."

"She's so young, though, she shouldn't be fighting in wars!" Finn's voice is quiet enough that Anya won't hear, and his empathetic puppy-dog eyes are fixated on Clarke, and she turns her face away from him, remaining silent.

Anya hovers at Clarke's side, waiting for her second to heal, but Clarke can't see any improvement in her young second, and by looking at Anya's tense face she can see that the commander can't either.

When Tris stops breathing, Clarke starts CPR, Nyko pitching in, but when that doesn't work either they steps back from the girl's body, pulling a confused, remorseful Finn along with her, as they allow Anya to saw off one of Tris' braids.

"Yo gonplei ste odon," she says lowly, and Clarke and Nyko echo the words a moment later, heads bowed respectfully. Miller and Finn watch the ritual uncertainly and when Anya raises her head she tells them to leave.

Miller looks at Clarke epectabtly and she jerks her head towards the door.

"I'm so sorry, Anya," she says, but ANya raises a hand to silence her.

"This was not your fault," she says slowly, sounding as though the words pain her. "But it was _someone's_ , and when I find them, they will pay with their life."

" _Jus drein jus daun,_ " Clarke whispers, and the room whispers with her.

* * *

"I don't trust your companion," Anya says, voice as toneless as ever, and Clarke looks at her, surprised.

"What? Which one?"

"The one who watches you when he thinks you can't see him."

A pause, then. "Finn."

"Mm."

"...Why not?" This isn't to say that Clarke _does_ trust him, but she values Anya's opinion.

Anya's lips sneer, face twisting, body swaying with the movements of the horse she sits upon, on the way back to Clarke's people's camp.

"He is..." She pauses, searching for the right word. "He has the potential to be... _foto_."

"Bad?" Clarke frowns. "For whom?"

Anya shrugs. "For my people, for your people, for our people. He is the type of man who would do _horrible_ things while all the while believing them to be good." She glances at Clarke and her face softens. "Doing the wrong thing with the right intentions does not make it forgivable. I have seen his kind before, Clarke."

Clarke looks at her hands, gripping the horse's rein.

"On the right day, with the right events..." Anya hums. "The most well-intentioned of men can commit atrocities. I'm not saying that he will, but I'm warning you to keep an eye on him." Clarke swivels in her saddle to see where Miller and Finn are, a distance behind them, Finn still looking as though he may break any moment, too empathetic for his own good.

"He is not one to put the weight of the world upon."

Clarke nods in agreement, but watching Finn, frown still adorning his face, she thinks he may have already put the weight of the world upon himself.

* * *

Bellamy doesn't really know what to think when the commander of woods clan walks up to him. Clarke has gone to clean the blood off herself so he can't look to her for guidance, so he and the makeshift-council exchange uncertain glances at the group of grounders before them.

"Belomi," Anya greets, and Bellamy can feel sweat on his neck.

"Anya," he returns, and she lifts her chin. "Can I help you?" He keeps his fingers firmly away from his gun, _dontlookdown_ , _dontlookdown_ , _dontlookdown,_ heartbeat slow and steady and strong, drumming in his ears.

"Perhaps," she says, and what the hell is that supposed to mean, "I presume Clarke has told you about my second?"

Bellamy fight down the urge to swallow. "I'm sorry for your loss," he offers. Is that something you say? Do grounders do that?

"Thank you," Anya says, bowing her head briefly. "But that's not why I'm here. After the attempt on Clarke's life using azgeda poison and now my second being killed, I was checking to see what security measures you've put in place."

Belllamy exchanges glances with Raven. _What_. "What... do you mean?"

Anya raises her chin again, and Bellamy notices absently how curiously the warriors behind her are looking around at their surroundings, their camp. "To protect Clarke."

Bellamy hears Jasper snort and then cover it up desperately by coughing extensively. He grits his teeth. "Clarke assures us she needs no protecting," he replies steadily, because _no she does not_ , "and our guards are always on duty and alert to any threat."

Anya takes a step closer to him. "Clarke," she says, "should not have to watch her own back in her own camp, surrounded by her own people." Bellamy refuses to back down, _don'tblink_ , _don'tblink_.

"She's safe with us." He snaps, feeling nettled and thrown off guard, because honestly what the hell.

"She'd better be," Anya replies sharply, "this treaty rests on _her_ back, and do not forget, _Belomi kom skaikru_ , that Clarke may be one of your people now but she was one of us first." The threat lies in the air.

 _Clarke will choose us. If Clarke dies, Trikru will rip Skaikru to shreds, and not just because of a fallen treaty._

Anya's mouth curls. "One of our peoples have been here from the start," she growls softly, "of of us has been with her from the start. She's one of yours not but she was one of ours first."

With that she turns and marches off, coat flapping in the mind, and Bellamy's mind is left reeling.


	16. Part 16

**A/N: Happy New Year, everybody! Please be sure to leave reviews! ;) xx**

* * *

Clarke tells Bellamy that she needs to gather more herbs from the woods as her stocks are dangerously low after the action of the last few weeks, (days? months? she isn't sure) and this is _true_ , but it's not the whole truth. The truth would be to say that Clarke feels small and bored and cooped up, and she needs to get out or she thinks she'll say or do something that she'll regret. Also, she wants to paint. It's an itch in her fingers that won't leave no matter how hard she tries, a feeling lingering in her mind and teasing her with ideas and images just waiting to come to life. Clarke's fingers have done awful, monstrous things, but they can create to the same extent. She's painted before, blending pastes and berries with scrap of fur and immortalising the pictures onto stretched leather, pulled taut across a frame of twigs. She knows that realistically, this is no time for painting, but when it ends, ( _if, if, if,_ whispers the dark part of Clarke's mind,) there will be time, and she will need supplies... If she snags a couple dye berries while gathering medicinal herbs, well, who could blame her?

Bellamy nods when she tells him, attention away from her and fixated upon Octavia and Lincoln, across camp and stacking firewood, bodies too close for friendship, eyes seeking each other out only when the other looks away, lips curled like they know a secret and it's one for them alone, so lost in their little world that they don't even notice the big bad brother, eyes too weary for this to be about Octavia's first time.

"They're not very subtle, are they," says Clarke because no, they are not. Bellamy scows and spares her a glance, and she waits.

"Your grounder friend threatened me, I think," he says abruptly, and Clarke turns to him, confused.

"What? You think?"

He shrugs, not looking at her, stance too casual for comfort. "Anya. She, um, came up to me when you were cleaning up."

"What? What did she say?"

Bellamy's still not looking at her and it's annoying. "Uh, nothing much, just... she doesn't think we're doing a goof job protecting you."

"What."

He looks at her now, mind made up. "And I've been thinking, Clarke, and she's not wrong."

" _What_."

"You're our only medic, and my co-leader, and the treaty lies on your back. You can't keep getting into trouble."

"Getting into trouble," Clarke repeats, one eyebrow raised, and he rolls his eyes and ducks his head.

"You know what I mean, Clarke- in danger." He pauses. "I'm not gonna try and persuade you to let someone else get your herbs for you, but at least take... Bree, and Finn. Please?"

Clarke wants to argue, but then she thinks about the fact that they haven't fought in a few days, and the fact that he's telling her this at all- trusting her, and that what he's asking won't be too much of an inconvenience and he's just trying to protect her. She doesn't need his protection but the sentiment is appreciated. She throws back her head and groans, and Bellamy cracks a smile.

* * *

The forest helps, as it always has. Clarke feels cleaner just by being there, and surrounded by the birds and the trees she lets herself relax. It's certainly no safer than the camp, not really, but the woods are a blanket and Clarke lets it wrap itself around her and takes a breath of fresh air and smiles.

Finn clearly isn't sure why she's allowing him to tag along, but that's a load of emotional baggage that Clarke isn't bothered to deal with right now, so for the most part she ignores him and instead points e different plants and their names and uses to an attentive Bree, who has a soft smile and thick hair and an automatic hanging loosely from long, nimble fingers.

Bree reaches for a plant wth three fuzzy leaves and Clarke s her wrist. "This one we don't touch," Clarke says, voice still quiet, not willing to bread the silent spell of the woods. Bree flushes but Clarke chuckles and waves a hand. "Don't sweat it," she reassures, "it's nothing too dangerous, just causes a really itchy rash." Bree sends her a weak smile and then suddenly she's keeling over into the bush she'd plucked the plant from, face-first, axe sprouting from her back.

Clarke yelps and scrambles back, eyes searching the tees around her, hearing Finn scramble down beside her ok the forest floor, swearing under his breath, eyes fixated on Bree, whose chest isn't moving anymore.

"What did that?" Whispers Finn, and for the first time Clarke is grateful he's with her, because he is a tracker and he knows the woods, not as well as her, but well enough to know to stay quiet, stay low, suss out the danger in the treetops from amongst the roots.

"Shh," says Clarke, and slowly she inches towards Bree's body, on hands and knees, slowly, slowly, until she's at Bree's side and nose-to-nose with the axe protruding from her back, and- " _Reapers_ ," Clarke breathes.

* * *

They run, but even as they sprint through the woods Clarke knows they're losing. She ducks under a flying arrow and grabs Finn's sleeve, pulling him behind a tree.

"What are you doing?" He pants hoarsely, "we have to keep going!"

"We won't make it," Clarke whispers, taking a moment to catch her breath. She hasn't run like this in weeks and it shows. "Reapers aren't like us. They won't get tired, won't give up." She takes a breath. "Our only chance... is to fight back."

" _What_?" Finn hisses, looking at her like she's lost her mind, which maybe she has, but it's certainly not a recent development. "We have no idea what we're up against, how many there are, and there are only _two_ _of_ _us_ , Clarke! We have to keep running-"

"Fine," says Clarke, and slips two daggers into her palms, wishing her bow and quiver weren't at camp. Stupid, stupid. "You go, and you'll die, but I'm staying here and I am going to _fight_."

Finn stares at her silently and abruptly shifts on his feet. "I'm not leaving without you," he says, and Clarke raises an eyebrow as she steps out from behind the tree.

"Then _fight_ ," she replies, "because I'm not going anywhere."

The first reaper comes crashing through the underbrush screaming, and he skids to a halt and leers at the sight that greets him, Clarke with a snarl on her lips and Finn, uncertainty in his eyes and easy to see. Clarke doesn't wait for him to signal his companions, running forward to stab his shoulder, ducking a punch and retaliating with a sick that sends him reeling into the bushes as four more reapers enter the scene.

Clarke slashes and spins and stabs, and in the corner of her eye she sees Finn, poised over a reaper on the ground, bashing a rock into its head, over and over again. She turns in time to block an attack from the last reaper standing, punching his solar plexus and plunging a knife into his only visible eye, pushing him off the blade with a well-placed kick to the chest. A roar sounds in the distance and Clarke quickly looks up. "That's their signal," she manages, pulling Finn off the dead, bloody mess of a reaper. " _Now_ we run."

* * *

"Finn." Clarke sighs. "Finn. Hey. Look at me." This catches his attention, gaze tearing away from his bloody hands to meet her eyes. "It's okay."

He looks away from her and she takes his hands and dips them into the stream, rubbing vigorously to cleanse them off the sticky red substance imbedded under his nails and in the creases of his skin. "It's not okay," he says, voice a husky croak, "I killed him."

Clarke raises her eyebrows and doesn't look up. "You did," she agrees, letting his hands sink into the river as she begins on her own, rolling up her sleeves.

"I killed that man."

"Not a man," Clarke replies softly, matter of fact. "Reapers are not men. They have no souls, nothing to lose and nothing to be taken from them in death." These are Anaya's words, Indra's words, Nyko's words- and now they are hers.

"Still," Finn protests, almost a scoff, "I felt him die."

 _That_ is _usually how it works,_ Clarke thinks, but she does not say so. The reapers are gone, distracted by a deer or something equally as unfortunate, and Finn has not said a word, looking as if his entire world has just been turned upside down. Clarke supposes that it has, in a way of sorts, but she knows that in this world the decisions that they make are a product of their environment, and now she needs Finn to see that too.

Finn is silent again, and Clarke rocks back onto her heels and pulls her fingers out from the water, pausing for a moment to observe the boy beside her before leaning forward again to wash her blades.

"I should have fought harder," Finn says abruptly, and Clarke shrugs slightly.

"Looks like you fought hard enough," she says, and thinks of him slumped over that grounder, bringing the rock down again and again.

"I should have protected you."

Clarke frowns. "That is not your job," she says, perhaps too harshly. "I don't need that, not from you, not from anyone. I protect myself."

Finn looks away from her, which is a relief, because if eyes are the windows to the soul then Finn's eyes are doors. "You shouldn't have to," he says, "but that's not what I meant." He turns back to her and lightly prods her shoulder.

Clarke scowls and shoves his hand away, unwilling to admit that she'd barely felt it when the axe sunk into her shoulder, not even to bone, just slicing through muscle before being abruptly drawn out. "It's fine, Finn," she says, and she can hear the exasperation in her voice. "I'm fine."

He shrugs and looks away, but not before opening his mouth as if there was something he wanted to say, before closing it with a _pop_. In another world, maybe, he'd tell her of _love_ , but in this world Finn has just killed someone and he's scared, and lonely, and nothing significant ever did happen between Clarke Griffin and Finn Collins, not here.

Clarke sighs. "Finn." She rubs a hand over her face and re-sheaths her blades. "Killing... it doesn't make you a monster. If anything, it proves you're human." She grabs his shoulder and squeezes. "You chose to keep yourself alive, to keep me alive. That's not weakness. The choices we make, the things we do, they don't define us. Not down here."

She waits for him to nod, albeit shakily, before relaxing with a half-smile, and then- "Well, well, how touching... I do hope I'm not interrupting something."

Clarke is up and hurling a knife in the direction of whoever spoke before she even processes who spoke, and when she sees them she stills and blinks in surprise.

"Roan?"

The warrior sends her his trademark half-smile. "Hello, Clarke. I think we need to talk."

* * *

Finn is relatively silent as Clarke and Roan walk side-by-side to the camp, and Clarke is glad of it.

"I heard your people fell from the sky, at long last," Roan begins, and Clarke inclines her head.

"Some of them, at least. I heard Ontari is carrying Nia's name and has divided your people."

Roan's lip curls. "Yes. The _natrona_ believes it is her right as a nightblood to claim the throne. My people are too easily swayed by the promise of bloodshed, especially after Nia's death. My army is slowly losing it's advantage."

Clarke grits her teeth and hisses a few choice words as Roan confirms what she's feared.

Roan continues on; "She has even gone so far as to intrude on Trikru territory and buy loyalty."

Clarke's head whips around instantly, eyes intense. "Wait, are you saying you know who the traitor is?"

Roan's head jerks in a nod, teeth bared. "Tristan, one of Anya's men. Word is, one of your men was stabbed with an ice nation blade a little while back, our war-fever found it's way into your camp, and not long after Anya's second was assassinated by someone she didn't expect. I'd bet my left hand that's his doing."

Finn perks up. "That would be me," he explains, somewhat unnecessarily, "someone attacked me from behind... but why? What would that gain?"

Roan sends Clarke a look of bemusement, clearly asking why she brought a puppy into the dark woods, and Clarke rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "That would send the clans spiralling into a war," Clarke explains. "We'd turn on Trikru, they'd turn on us, and Azgeda would have the perfect opportunity to topple both to coalition and Lexa's throne... Roan, you're sure Tristan is the mole?"

Roan nods, one hand ever-present on his sword, fastened at his side as always. "Positive. It's the only option that makes sense. As one of Anya's commanders he has access to all parts of the woods, for the most part unquestioned." Sensing her next question, he blazes on, "Both Anya and Indra would rather die then betray their clan, as we both know, and Tristan has never rested easy with talks of treaties and coalitions."

Clarke shakes her head, but it's not of disagreement. "never liked him," she mutters, and Roan's lips twitch. "Slimy little traitor." There is silence for a moment.

"So then, Roan, King-or-not of Azgeda, what brings you here?"

He rolls her eyes and shoves her, little heat behind the action, hand brushing aside the low-hanging branches dangling in their way as they near the place Clarke can almost call home. (For now, at least.)

"I am here, Clarke of Skykru, mountain slayer, Wanheda of the coalition, because Ontari's army marches nearer with every passing moment, with the war-drums ringing. I pledged my alliance to you as you did to me, and now it is time for both of us to honour our alliance. I want my kingdom back, and I want my kingdom in the treaty. We are weary, battle-tired, and Ontari may win this first fight but thrones of bones will always topple eventually. You want your people to survive. If Ontari succeeds in taking over the coalition, she will wipe you out... and if I know her, your camp will be the first place she'l strike."


	17. Part 17

**A/N: We're reaching the end of this saga, but first have some stressed-out scheming from the kiddos.**

* * *

"I can't believe this," says Raven, head in her hands, elbows leaning on the council table. Monty squeezes her shoulder sympathetically. "I can't-" She cuts herself off and shakes her head. "You're telling me that she says the spirit of a dead queen is guiding her actions, and your people believe that load of bull?"

Roan shrugs. "It is our belief that the spirits of commanders past can choose a nightblood to lead their people after they pass. It is our way. What do _your_ people believe in, up in the stars?"

Raven levels a look at him from across the table. "Ourselves," she says, deadpan, and Clarke can hear Jasper snort quietly.

Monty sends his friends a reproachful look. "We believe our souls return to the ground when they pass from their bodies," he says quietly, "or at least, _most_ people believe that, at least to some extent."

Roan sends Clarke a bemused expression, and inclines his head to Monty. "Same as us, then," he says, pleased, "only our people don't have as far to go as we are already 'on the ground', as you say." He nods, clearly satisfied, and that's that. Monty opens and closes his mouth but then chooses against arguing, a speculative look upon his face.

"Anyways," Raven says loudly, "So this- Ontari, right- says she's being told what to do by Nia, who is your mother," She gestures vaguely in Roan's direction, who is doing a very good job at looking innocently interested and amused alternatively, "and who is also dead, thanks, princess," Clarke can't tell if she'd being sarcastic, "and _apparently_ , Nia is saying to _take over the coalition_ , wipe us out _permanently_ because she was pissed at _you_ , thanks, again, Princess," Clarke looks slightly affronted now, "and send all twelve clans hurtling into civil war, all because- what? What does she gain from all this?"

Clarke steps forward, now; "From what we can tell, she's actually not the only one calling the shots. Roan says he noticed a prominent change in her, a few months ago, and almost immediately after, she started pushing for leaving the coalition; and as wel as that, some of the people Roan knows would stay loyal to him, as he is the rightful heir to Nia's throne, they also had an abrupt change of heart, to the extent where it's suspiciously so."

There's a pregnant lull in the conversation. "What, like... someone's orchestrating this from behind the scenes?" Jasper's voice is hesitant.

Clarke shrugs, again. "We don't know, but whatever it is it's not natural. We should expect the worst."

Bellamy pushes off the wall where he was leaning, scowl on his face. "We should expect _war_. There's an apparent army marching towards us! How do we even know we can trust this guy?" He waves a hand towards Roan. "For all we know, he's here to infiltrate our camp and then stick a knife in our backs under the cover of nightfall."

Roan raises one eyebrow, passive, and Clarke shakes her head. "Roan and I are in alliance. I trust him with my life... we can trust him." Bellamy looks unconvinced and Clarke stiffles some unpleasant words, though she knows his distrust isn't entirely unwarranted. "Do you trust me?" Bellamy hesitates, eyes uncertain, and then he nods, jerkily. Clarke looks around the dropship, which is the unofficial council room, and sees her friends nodding. "Then _trust_ me. I know what I'm doing. I've stopped one war with Roan, we can do it again. Okay?" More nodding, and finally Bellamy deflates and concedes, and Clarke lets out a breath.

"Okay. We need to prepare-"

"For what?" This is Finn, a tinge of something that Clarke can't identify in his voice. "For an _army_? For a _war_? There is no way we can fight off an entire army! There's under a hundred of us, and all save two are under age eighteen, and none of us are trained fighters. If we stay here, we don't stand a chance. Come on, Clarke. You know as well as I do that staying here is more than just painting a target on our backs, it's waiting for a massacre. This isn't a fight we can win!"

Bellamy shoves off the wall again, standing arms crossed before Finn. "We are not cowards, Finn," he growls, and Finn sends him an incredulous look.

"It's not cowardice to accept when you're at a disadvantage, when you're _clearly_ going to _lose the fight_ , and it's not _cowardice_ to choose to live! Your pride is not worth dozens of lives, Bellamy!"

Bellamy yells something back, incensed, but Clarke doesn't hear him, mind racing. Roan is watching the two boys fight, the amused look finally slipping from his face, stress more evident. Raven is yelling right along with the two others, demanding that they stop and talk it out, or something, and Monty and Jasper are clearly tense, exchanging increasingly panicked looks.

"Stop," mutters Clarke, "Stop!" They stop, chests heaving and faces red, waiting for her to announce her support for one of them. She does no such thing, instead turning to Roan.

"Roan." He straightens. "How long do we have before Ontario's army is upon us?"

Roan releases a long breath. "On estimate? Two, three days at most."

Raven swears viciously, hands clenched on the table again, head turned away and facing the wall as she scrambles for ideas.

Clarke nods slowly, gears turning inside her head as she looks now to Raven. "Raven, what did you say about the fuel from the exodus wreckage?"

Raven looks up, clearly confused about what this has to do with anything. "Uh, I said that it's volatile enough to destroy our whole camp."

Recognition dawns in Raven's eyes. "Or..." She continues slowly, "to wipe out everything _inside_ our camp."

"Why the _hell_ would we went to do that," Jasper bursts out. "Is anyone else _not_ wanting to _blow up_ , or is that just me."

"We could take out an army," says Monty lowly. "We'd be killing an entire army."

Raven looks at him, something in her eyes simultaneously hardening and softening as she looks at him, fifteen years old and already seen so much. "We'd be alive, though," she says softly, and he says nothing in reply.

"There must be another way," says Octavia, silent up to this point. "Something easier. You said it yourself, Clarke- the fuel isn't right next door. So much could go wrong. We don't even know how to make a bomb!"

There's silence as everyone in the room turns to Raven. "Do we?" Bellamy asks, more curious than anything else, and Raven shrugs, hands in the air.

"Won't know 'till I try," she replies, and Octavia whirls to Lincoln in accusation.

"What about Luna?" She asks, and the room perks up.

"Who's Luna?" Jasper questions, and Clarke waves it aside.

"Luna is head of Floukru, across the sea. Even if we could make it in time, Octavia- _which we won't,_ and if you don't believe me, ask Lincoln- Floukru is peaceful. They would not offer us sanctuary if they knew what we'd be bringing with us; ie Ontari's entire horde. In this situation, Octavia, offence is the _only_ defence."

The brunette scowls but looks more defeated than anything else, resigned to their path, and the council falls into silence.

"So we're really going to do this, then." It's Jasper who breaks the silence, as always, and though his words are a question they're not poised as one at all.

"We're really going to do this," Raven agrees, spine straight and steel in her spine.

"We're going to war," Clarke says softly, and then louder again; "We're going to war, and we need to be ready when it arrives."


	18. Part 18

**A/N: And this is where this story ends. Thank you all for sticking by me and (oh my gods) for leaving me 40 (40!) reviews, over 100 followers, and over 90 favourites. You all mean the world to me, inspire me to keep writing and dreaming, and I hope the ending to this story satisfies. Live long and prosper xx**

* * *

Bellamy passes her with a backpack slung over one shoulder, footsteps heavy, shoulders firmly set.

Octavia breezes by with Lincoln, arms full of assorted weapons that Clarke recognises from his cave.

Jasper flies through camp and Monty follows him at a slightly slower pace as they reinforce the wall, long fingers a blur along the panelling and logs.

Finn, still lightly limping, curls his fingers more securely around the automatic in his fingers, eyes fixed on a point in the distance, waiting for any sign of Raven and the awaited fuel; Nathan Miller and Zoe Monroe at his side, chatting quietly with Harper McIntyre, who has a bandana wrapped around her head and steel in her eyes.

Clarke only needs to turn her body slightly in order to see more preparations taking place all around the camp; a bruised and battered John Murphy lugging water towards the dropship stubbornly; Sterling stumbling under the weight of freshly cleaned and sopping wet cloths and linens; a girl Clarke doesn't even know very well squeezes her shoulder as she marches past the blonde, gun in her fingers and scarf around her neck.

Clarke reels abruptly because these are _kids_ around her, kids reloading gun barrels with practised ease, kids sharpening spears with the edge of rocks, kids chucking back Monty's moonshine without so much as a flinch, gaze hard and steely. These are _kids_ that Clarke sees with trembling fingers, shaky smiles, kids with watery eyes and stiff shoulders, kids who turn every second step to check on the wall or on either Clarke of Bellamy, making sure that they're there, that they're still safe for now. These are _kids_ , and if Clarke is wrong, if this goes _wrong_ \- Clarke will have killed them all.

It's not the time for such a revelation (or maybe it is,) and she has to blink a few times to snap herself out of it. Bellamy reappears at her side, looking at her in concern that he'd adamantly deny, and she tries for a smile but changes her mind half way through the action and inclines her head instead.

"How we doing?" She asks, voice steady, and he takes a breath and shakes his head slightly.

"You think this'll really work?" He replies instead of answering, "Do you really think we've got a chance?"

Clarke does manage a smile this time, somehow. "We've got Raven," she says, the lightness of her tone falling flat in the face of their situation. "If anyone can make this work, it's her."

Bellamy nods, accepting that not-answer, and for a moment he rests a heavy hand on her shoulder, squeezing. It's steadying, and Clarke reaches up to place her small, scarred fingers over his large ones. _I'm not good at running_ , she wants to say, _running always leaves casualties._ _This is all I know how to do,_ she wants to yell in frustration, or maybe as a plea for understanding, _it may not be perfect but at least this way I know we have a chance because I can fight but I cannot run away._

Bellamy walks away before she says anything though, and it's for the best, and Clarke stands still for a moment longer, allowing the ordered action and chaos of the camp to flow over her, threatening to drag her under and fill her lungs as she drowns- and then she exhales slowly and spins on her heel to help Jasper rig the dropship prepare it for the giant bomb they're planning to create.

* * *

Lincoln grabs her wrist. "Maunon," he says, and his voice carries the only trace of fear Clarke has ever heard from him.

"Lets hope not," she replies softly, and wriggles so her fingers are clasping his wrist as well. "They should know to steer clear."

Lincoln doesn't look too convinced. "They will see an army," he counters, and Clarke would be a fool not to know this. "They will see a bomb." Clarke looks down at their interlocked hands and squeezes her fingers slightly, as much a lifeline for him as it is for her.

"I know," she says gently. "I have heard the whispers just as you have, Linc. We will be careful." She squeezes again; makes eye contact with him. "We will survive as we always have."

Linclon takes a step forward and closes the gal between them, places his forehead on her own and wraps his huge arms around her. Clarke reaches under his biceps to grip his shoulders and breathes out; once, twice. She closes her eyes.

"We will survive," Lincoln echoes into her hair, and Clarke squeezes him tighter.

* * *

"They're back!" Shouts a kid Clarke has recently bandaged, and she pushes through the crowd to reach Raven, who is looking pale and exhausted but manages a triumphant smile for Clarke, grin evident through the hazmat suit she dons, fingers clenched around a pail of sloshing liquid.

Clarke grins back. "I'd hug you but I'd prefer not to explode," she offers, and Raven chortles.

"Thanks," she says, "I'd also prefer not blowing up... but I'm down to blow everything _else_ up, so let's get started!" Clarke feels herself laughing as she leads Raven towards the dropship, clearing a path through the momentarily still camp, and thinks how strange, that she finds a certain peace in a time of such certain war.

* * *

Raven calls instructions over to Clarke from the other side of the dropship underbelly, and Clarke's fingers stay steady as ever as they fiddle with wires and panels and switches, Raven's commentary making Clarke smile yet again even through the severity of the situation. Jasper stands guard above them, his pacing echoing through the small space where the girls work, and when Raven yells "done!" they hear Jasper release a string of thankful curses.

"All good?" He asks, poking his head down, and Raven gives him a thumbs up.

"All that's left is to pull the lever," Raven confirms, and then stumbles and falls. Clarke hisses in surprise and rushes forward to catch her, pulling her up from underneath her arms, head lolling dangerously.

Clarke swears in trigadesleng and gets Jasper to help pull the Latina up, and then Clarke swears again as she brushes aside Raven's sweaty hair and catches sight of a bloody gash on her forehead. "Oh, Raven," she groans, "why didn't you just _say_ you'd fallen?" She peels back Raven's eyelids and grimaces. "Definitely a concussion," she sighs to a worried Jasper, and then Clarke falls back into her heels.

"Nothing I can really do about it right now," she admits, and then the yelling starts.

Jasper exchanges a panicked glance with Clarke and then they're both scrambling to their feet, stumbling outside to see the first casualty of this battle; a boy named Fergus has an axe imbedded in his face. His friend is near hysterical beside him, explaining hurriedly that their scouting party was attacked from the treetops. She and one other girl were the only two to make it back... and Fergus had been only a few steps away from the gate when the blade had whirled into his face.

Clarke pushes past the teenagers until she's standing in from too them all, facing the gate, Bellamy suddenly beside her.

"It's started, then," she says, loud enough for her voice to carry across the crowd, sounding strangely detached to her own ears. Bellamy holds a machine gun in his two hands and his presence gives her strength as she says: "Everyone get to the dropship, _now_." There's a scramble as everyone turns as one to head towards the dropship but it's too late: a horn blows, not enough away, and then the first arrow is sailing into camp. Someone screams and then it's pandemonium as teenagers reach for their weapons and race towards the dropship.

A girl who can't be older than fifteen screeches as she's impaled fro, behind: what use is a wall, wonders Clarke, if the warriors are just going to drop down from the trees anyway? The girl's friend swings a blade into the Warriors neck and he falls to the ground, gurgling, and that's the floodgates opening, it seems, as Clarke can see Azgeda fighters plunging to the ground all throughout camp, the horn blowing again. She draws her daggers into her hands, and everything loses it's fuzzy, underwater quality: reality comes crashing down on her. Bellamy is beside her, gun firing already, eyes searching desperately for Octavia. Clarke knows the girl will be fine, she was with Lincoln last Clarke saw, heading to his cave for more supplies.

"Bellamy," Clarke says, and he tears his eyes away from the battle to look at her. Clarke is suddenly unsure what to say. "Make it to the dropship," Clarke seitles on, and he nods jerkily.

"You too." Clarke node her head briefly and then she's flying forward; her blades glinting in her hands as she whirls them into warrior after warrior. She's no fool; this isn't a battle, it's simply a fight until her people are safe, are in the dropship: in between grunts of pain and exhertion, vaulting and spinning and slipping more knives into her hands, Clarke can see the rest of her people slowly making their way to the dropship, running and screaming and firing guns, mowing down the azgeda in their way, but still some are falling, faltering and landing face first on the ground, moving no longer. The air is filled with the sounds of people dying and people desperately trying not to, and Clarke fights in a way she never has before.

She fights and fights and fights until she's near the dropship door, Bellamy's guards firing from the entrance to give the remaining teenagers easier access. Miller is by her side, gripping her arm, shouting to _go_ , _Clarke, let's go_ , but there's- there's- _Bellamy_. Tristan, bloody, foul, natrona _filth_ Tristan- standing over him, blade at his neck, Bellamy's eyes on her own, resignation at war with the ever-present urge to fight, and no, no, _no_ \- and then Finn is there.

He's punching desperately and Bellamy is managing to stagger upwards to help, and for one, precious, terrible moment, Clarke makes eye contact with Finn. She knows what she has to do and so do they, but _no_ she doesn't _want_ to she _can't_ \- "Clarke!" Miller is still screaming and with a sound that is half a sob, Clarke pushes her way into the dropship, the door is closing now, hand on the lever- she closes her eyes.

Clarke pulls the lever and a blast of heat washes over the still-terrified teenagers, alive and sobbing and so very brave and so very defiant, unwilling to let an army wipe them out before they'd even got a chance to truly taste the earth they landed upon after falling from the stars, and Clarke feels inexplicably lost. Lincoln is- Clarke doesn't know. She saw him at some point in the battle, carting a bleeding Octavia over his shoulder, but she hasn't seen him since. Finn, who was so brave and good and Bellamy who was her friend and her co-leader and her other half and Clarke has just- she's just- she _left_ them and now for all she knows they are burning to death with the rest of azgeda, if Tristan didn't manage to kill them before hand.

Harper is crying silently, body shaking violently, and Clarke can't see Monroe or Sterling beside her, Monty taking their usual place, pale and bleeding... Clarke steels herself and straightens her spine and Miller, beside her, puts a bleeding hand on her shoulder.

The screaming from outside has stopped, and the door opens and all Clarke can see is ash- rubble and grit and _skeletons_ , all lying still and smoking, the stench so much that her eyes water. Clarke stumbles in front of the rest of the group, as she always does, searching desperately for ginger braids or curly brown hair or _anything,_ but there's pink mist wafting though the air and Clarke crumples, falling on her hands and knees, feeling crumbly bones under her fingers, and eyesight blurring.

Green lasers are cutting through the mist now, heavy metal boots appearing, and as Clarke's eyes finally slip closed she thinks _oh, god, no._


End file.
